


You Are in Love

by kangelique



Series: The Captain Swan Playlist [12]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Bailbonds Emma Swan, Birthdays, Character Death, Establishing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Flashback, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, One Night Stands, Orphan Emma Swan, Slow Burn, Smut, Stargazing, Teacher Captain Hook | Killian Jones, but not Emma or Killian, dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: Emma Swan liked her distance. Specially when it came to neighbors. Maybe even more when it came to Killian Jones. Sure he had ocean blue eyes and thick black hair she wouldn't mind running her fingers through, but that was it. He was actually pretty annoying with his lame excuses to knock on her door, and she didn't appreciate his music and voice bleeding through the thin walls of her kitchen. The poems he gave her weren't helping either. Dude just couldn't take a hint.Of course if she'd met him at a bar it'd be a different story. But the thing is she didn't meet him at a bar. She probably should have remembered that before she stripped him of his pants and enjoyed the way he fucked her into the wall.So what does she do? She runs. Duh. To New York.And comes back to find him at a graveyard.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: The Captain Swan Playlist [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1327670
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71
Collections: Once Upon A Time Fanfics





	1. The Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Small talk, he drives  
> Coffee at midnight  
> The light reflects the chain on your neck  
> He says 'Look up'  
> And your shoulders brush  
> No proof, one touch, but you felt enough"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this since January, and I'm glad I finally get to share it with you guys. It ended up being 47 pages on my google docs, so I had to split up the chapters otherwise this monster would take forever to read.

**Chapter 1: The Wish**

Emma scraped the match against the side of the box, waiting for the flame. She lit the candle and leaned forward, almost oblivious to the edge of the counter digging into her stomach as she dropped her chin on her crossed arms and stared at the chocolate cupcake swirling in white frosting. 

“Another banner year,” she sighed. 

This year it was a blue star-shaped candle, but last year it had been a yellow and the year before that a purple. There was a pattern starting to form, wasn’t there? Apparently not for everything because the _I wish_ when she closed her eyes stayed the same. Her lips twisted in debate. Was it really worth it to keep making a wish, and more importantly, shoving that five dollar bill into the employees hand?

Maybe not. Sure Georgetown was popular, gotten some nice critic reviews, and Emma herself had given them a five-star rating, but that wasn’t why she’d lost count of how many times she’d driven past there on her way to work and back from work, the tower of cupcakes on the window display catching the corner of her eye Every. Time. Tempting her, warning her, _reminding_ her. 

Ugh that dick Ryan was right. She was an orphan and she was friendless -lack of picture frames on the grey walls, soft hum of the refrigerator behind her, and creaking rocking chair by the corner laughing at her. Emma glanced at the clock whose hand ticked closer to twelve, and well _here we go_ , quickly closed her eyes and blew out the candle. 

Her heart didn’t even get half a moment to ache before someone was pounding on her door. 

Emma squared her shoulders, eyebrows furrowing as she padded over to the door. Stupid, useless hope.

“Hello love.” Oh no, no, no. Her palm slipped off the knob when their eyes met, thumping in her chest increasing just a bit, and she tried to push the door back but he stuck his foot in the doorway. 

The pathetic little cupcake was still sitting on the counter in wide open view, and Jones -Killian Jones, aka her annoying pain in the ass neighbor- gaze slid from her face to the pink material hugging her hips a little too tight and exposing a fair amount of cleavage and collarbone for his tongue to flick across his bottom lip. Yay. Another great life decision. 

Killian inhaled sharply. “Mm, appears I’ve made the right choice after all.” He gave her a sideways smirk and raised his eyebrows pointedly. 

“About what- wait, never mind, I don’t care.” Emma sighed. “What do you want, Jones?”

The question echoed from the other nights he’d knocked on her door, asking for a cup of milk or teaspoon of sugar or coffee beans because he’d unfortunately ‘run out’. Really convenient, but what else could she do besides try to be a decent human being? Having moved in a few months ago, sometimes they’d bump into each other when she went to get her mail or he’d hold the elevator as she rushed across the lobby. 

Not to mention his guitar playing, music _and_ his voice bleeding through the thin walls of the kitchen. Mostly she ignored him and the winks he always left with on the mornings when she was running late, as if the bastard wanted to unsettle her more, but the sticky notes he kept leaving on the front stack of her bills frustating. Specially since his poems hit home. 

Whatever. The point was Emma couldn’t stand him or those ridiculous eyebrows. 

“You mean apart from paying you a compliment, Swan?” Emma frowned, pressing a firm hand to his chest before his boots could reach her toes when he tilted his head and took a step closer. “Tell me then, who was the lucky bloke.”

“No one, this isn’t for...you know what, it doesn’t matter, it’s a work thing.” God she didn’t have time for this shit. She had joggers, an oversized t-shirt, and a pillow waiting for her to cry on. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Well it’s true, dear, you do cut _quite_ the figure.”

“Get. To your point.”

“Coffee,” Killian said simply, finally tearing his eyes away with a grin.

“What?” Emma snorted. “You’re kidding, buddy, it’s midnight. Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Last I checked, yes, I’m quite sober. And also quite blocked. Some caffeine would do me wonders.”

“Yeah and I care about this because…?”

Killian sighed and glanced at the floor as he leaned back against the wall. Emma crossed her arms, and why the hell was she waiting for an answer again? Maybe it was his clenched fist, the hunched shoulders, or how the blue in his eyes had dimmed, but then he had to go and lazily smirk at her and yep, there went her sympathy out the window.

“Have a little mercy, would you, darling. I’ll throw in a hot cocoa and that nauseantingly sweet bearclaw you fancy so much if you agree.”

“So you’re trying to get me to go with you by insulting my favorite dessert? Nice.”

His face turned serious. “Truth is I’d prefer the company.”

Emma froze. 

She’d spent the entire day researching a new skip, sleeping with the TV in the background, and shoving cereal into her mouth while trying not to look at the date on her phone. And then she’d dropped Ryan at the precinct and returned to the emptiness of her apartment. 

Damn it. 

“I’m gonna regret this,” Emma murmured, gritting her teeth. “Just let me go change.”

“Or might I suggest you avoid all the hassle. Believe me, I don’t mind.”

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Of course you don’t, just shut up and meet me downstairs.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, and flutters did not spark up in her stomach when he smiled softly and bowed his head. “As you wish.”

She spun on her heel, slamming the door shut as soon as he turned around and retreated down the hall. Woah that was dangerous, but she breathed easier the moment she’d shrugged into her red-leather jacket and tucked the silver reminder under her sweater. 

  
**************

Dead leaves scraped lightly against the gravel of the deserted parking lot; all the stores cast in shadow, save for the Starbucks drive-thru as they waited; and a single lamp post to their right shedding light onto the small space between her and Killian’s seats as she stared out the windshield.

Silence blanketed the air, and her grip tightened on the steering wheel. 

She’d never been alone with Killian before -those elevator rides didn’t count- and the seatbelt strapped across her chest was suddenly a bad idea, too suffocating, too there. Her foot tapped impatiently, an urge to run rushing through her legs. The man himself had grown quiet, knocking his knuckles against his closed mouth. Out the corner of her eye, Emma took in the dark scruff coating his jaw and locks curling around the nape of his neck. Maybe they’d be as silky as they appeared. 

It didn’t help that the moonlight illuminated the faint scar on his cheek, first three undone buttons of his shirt revealing a dangling ring with a blood-red jewel in the center. 

Since Neal, no one else had filled that passenger seat. 

“Here you go.” The guy -Emma’s gaze landed on the nametag _August B_ \- thankfully broke through her thoughts. Even Killian turned his head, arching an eyebrow at god knows what as she grabbed her steaming cup and carefully set it inside the cupholder. She handed Killian his without a word, but she held her breath when his fingertips lightly brushed her knuckles, unexpectedly soft on her skin. 

She didn’t exactly peg Jones as the soft type. 

“You guys have a goodnight.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks.” She blinked once and he was leaning against the passenger seat again, Starbucks cup resting on his lap, waist no longer turned to her anymore. She tried smiling at August, but smiles had never been her forte anyway. Hence the grimace now. “Yeah thanks.”

“No problem. Don’t forget to check the side, wanna make sure I got your name right.”

“Sure.”

Killian scoffed and Emma threw him a What-the-fuck-is-up-with-you look before she shifted the car into gear and pressed the gas pedal, shaking her head. 

“You want to explain that, Jones?”

“Actually no. Although perhaps dear old August could.” Killian nodded to her cup and she shrugged, everything in her face screaming _WHAT what about it_ when he slowly turned it around to reveal a phone number. Would you look at that, another uncalled for surprise. “Seems you have a secret admirer.”

Her eyes narrowed at the slight edge in his tone, and she smirked. “Jealous?”

“Of that git? On the contrary, I’m devilishly handsome.”

“Okay.”

He shifted uncomfortably, and Emma bit back a triumph smile. Two could play at this game. 

A beat passed as she continued steadily down the lane, easy enough with no cars on either side, although the tense silence invading the space wasn’t anyone’s best friend, the ends of her hair taking the brunt of it when they demanded to be tugged on since the light ahead switched to red. 

“So how was your day, love?”

Her eyes widened. Now there was something she didn’t hear every day. Actually who was she kidding, she didn’t hear it any day. Her lips settled into a thin line. Better to focus on the road than the unfamiliar question. 

“Don’t do that.”

“You’re referring to the perfectly common question I’ve just inquired?” Not common for her. Not applicable after a string of crappy foster homes. 

“Look, I know what this is. You trying to...bond with me, but it’s not gonna work so save your breath. I’m not in the mood,” Emma sighed. Hurt flashed across his face, and she tried to push down on the strange guilty creeping up on her with both hands, willing the light to turn green until she was surpassing the speed limit of thirty down the block. 

“Alright, but I’d like to make a small detour.”

“Yeah in your dreams. You only said coffee, now we have coffee and so we go back with the coffee and that’s it.”

“Emma please,” Killian said softly. 

Her breath caught. He’d used her name? Her real name. No nicknames, no endearments, no games. Just her name. And she shoudn’t like how it fell from his lips, letters dusted with his thick accent, appreciating them…

“You’re just full of suggestions, aren’t you,” Emma snapped. “What, where the hell do you want to go now, Dunkin donuts or-”

“Well given the lack of bagels-"

“Noooooo,” she quickly cut him off, shaking her head in response to whatever arching eyebrow and side of his mouth twisting in consideration he was doing. “No. I’m serious.”

“What a coincedence, as am I.”

“Jones....”

“Wonderful.” Killian grinned. “Make a left at the next light.”

Emma groaned. “I’m not going to-”

He rolled his eyes. “It shall be a quick little trip, sweetheart, I promise.”

Emma pressed her lips together but swerved to the left, entering a street lined with chestnut trees. He inhaled a deep breath and flexed his fingers in and out of his fist before he pointed. “Over there. Follow me.” As soon as the car rolled to a stop behind a parked Toyota, he opened the door and stepped out with his coffee. 

For her part she didn’t move, looking at him expectantly and leaning back with crossed arms. “Jones, I swear this is the last time-”

Killian popped his face back in, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Indeed it is, but we must walk from here. You wouldn’t truly leave a dashing raspscallion such as me-self to fend the night alone, aye?”

“Please be my guest,” she muttered dryly as she finally hauled herself up, snatching her almost lukewarm cup and holding it to her chest when she slammed door shut. Her eyes narrowed when he immediately took off in the direction of a fence, moon’s glow reflecting on the grey-chain link. Naturally he adjusted his foot on one of the triangles, and also naturally, she questioned her sanity as he climbed slowly. 

“What are you doing, what is this place?” Avert, avert eyes when his back muscles flexed underneath his jacket. “Explain now.”

“Robbin’s Farm Park, love. And don’t just stand there admiring me, you must cross over as well.”

She had come all this way so there must be something wrong with her. 

“Fine.”

Killian finally reached the top and easily swung his leg over. He jumped off with a grunt, landing steadily on his feet. Showoff. Emma stared at him for a moment as he dusted his jeans, contemplating whether or not it was worth to get caught trespassing, and then she tucked the cup under her arm and prepared to jump. His blue gaze flashed up, and it’s safe to say the last thing Emma Swan expected from Killian Jones was for him to turn around, nod, and open his arms. 

“Alright, let go.”

“I don’t need you to-”

“Try something new, darling,” he said, and tugged on her ankle. Emma gasped, body falling forward, and hands scrambling to grab something, his shoulders maybe, when firm hands caught her waist. Their eyes locked for a moment, burning an ocean’s sincerity into her frown, and her hand flew to her chest, fingers gripping the silver keychain tightly. 

“It’s called trust,” he whispered.

Emma blinked out of her daze, head swirling with false _I love you too’s_ and broken promises about home, and she pushed away from his chest even though he was already setting her on the ground. Pulling a napkin out of his back pocket, he gently wiped the dirt off her palms and handed her her empty coffee cup. 

“Oh so now you want to be a gentleman.”

“My dear, I’m always a gentleman.”

“Okay seriously, why the hell are we here?”

“Look up,” he whispered and their shoulders brushed. Emma’s lips parted, not because the stars decked in the inky blue eyes were beautiful, but because she’d automatically turned her head, mouth drying with the touching warmth surging through their leather jackets and covering her skin from tightened bicep to twitching fingers. 

“Wow,” Emma finally said, and fell back two steps when he smiled a sad smile.

“My father used to bring us here.”

“Yeah?” Her gaze wandered to the face suddenly contorting with pain, features darkening under the ticking jaw, lips turned down, and eyebrows caught in the same heated debate she was most days to furrow or form a crease.

“It feels as though it were a lifetime ago.”

She nodded, ignoring the sharpness pinching her chest. He had a family then. “You guys were close?”

“For a time being, yes.”

Questions she shouldn’t have wanted to ask bubbled up in her throat, caring questions, _dangerous_ questions like if maybe this was the reason he wanted to company, if maybe the dark circles under his eyes were more than his failed writing and more about his dad.

Emma exhaled softly, nose wrinkling before she even got the words out, somehow the dank, musty air of the cell hitting her like she was still trapped and disappointed. “Did you know there are forty-eight state prisons in Arizona?” Or that she was in a Juvenile Correction department, the name of it enough to slap her in the face for how head over heels she’d been, how _blind._ Four isolating walls reminding her just how small her world was, and the small square window showing her everything in the outside she couldn’t have, didn’t deserve after her stupidity. 

Always the outsider looking in. 

“Did you know more than two people die out of skin cancer in the U.S every hour?” 

Wait, what, how did he know that? Of course she had her reasons for knowing a weird fact but Killian…

He arched an eyebrow at her, faint smile growing vivid at the same time her own smile appeared and she was knocking their shoulders before she could think twice. “You better know how to show me some constellations or else this is gonna be a little disappointing.”

“I’m afraid it’s your lucky day then, it just so happens I do.” His breath tickled her ear. “And happy birthday, Swan.”

Maybe, if life wasn’t always kicking her when it was good, she could admit how the stupid, useless hope on the stupid, useless wish had actually stupidly come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts are welcome!


	2. The Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One look, dark room  
> Meant just for you  
> Time moved too fast  
> You played it back  
> Buttons on a coat  
> Lighthearted joke  
> No proof, not much  
> But you saw enough"

**Chapter 2: The Chance**

Another successful honeytrap.

This time no Ryan had been there to spout truth about not understanding family, no emotions getting the best of her, no slamming people’s faces into steering wheels -even if they did deserve it for acting like such assholes. 

Her feet were almost skipping with newfound energy thanks to the fact that she’d changed into her short, black dress, survived through the night without any spilling of non-white beverages, and gotten her skip in less than thirty minutes. Not to toot her own horn, but sometimes she was pretty good at her job. And who the fuck cared if her apartment was bare and cold? _Nothing_ could wipe the grin off her face today. 

Emma stopped in front of her door, satisfied smile still sitting on her lips, and felt around her pockets for her keys. They landed on the floor in a clump of metal, and she bent to snatch them up when her gaze shifted to the half-open door behind her. _Killian’s_ door. 

She straightened slowly, lips twisting with her gut, but she shook her head. He’d probably made a quick run downstairs and forgotten to close the door. It happens. Happened to her more often than not. Except Killian wasn’t forgetful like that, too responsible and tidy for her to believe he just left the door open. He didn’t _just do_ things. 

Emma pushed the door the rest of the way, lack of creaking hinges helping her enter an eerie silence and raise her suspicions as she stepped inside and squinted into the darkness. 

“Jones? Hey, you in here?” Emma waited for the sarcastic comment, a response that would inevitably end with Love, but nothing. Her eyebrows furrowed and she moved deeper into the apartment, hands outstretched to grip any surfaces. “Your door’s unlocked by the way, makes it real easy to -KILLIAN!”

The silhouette coughed violently, a low groan erupting from the bottom of his throat when he tried to stand. Emma’s boots wildly crunched glass. She squatted next to his head, turning on her phone and illuminating the squeezed shut eyes, gritted teeth, and the pieces of broken glass surrounding his wide open palm, a silver flask half sticking out of his pants pocket. He muttered something under his breath and she leaned her ear down. 

“What? Say that again, I didn’t-”

“Liam,” he breathed, face distorting with a fresh wave of confusion. 

“Who?” Emma sighed and gripped his arm gently. “No, it’s Emma. Come on, let’s get you up.”

“Brother,” Killian continued murmuring, head bobbing forward as she struggled to pull him upright, other hand supporting his back. “But my brother…”

“Sorry but whoever that is he’s not here. I think you passed out hard.” She smiled to herself. “You’re definitely not sober now. Woah. Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?”

Killian pulled away from her, arm slinging awkwardly to his side and throwing him off balance. Emma reached out immediately, but he stumbled a few steps and caught himself at the wall with heaving shoulders _Thank god._

“I must clean up.”

She walked over and gently turned him around by the shoulders, startling when his eyes were slightly more focused than she expected. “Killian stop. You’re drunk. Just show me where your bed is.”

Oh shit. 

A lazy smirk arose on his face as he swayed closer, tilting his head deliberately. “Are you trying to take advantage of me, Swan? Because if you are,” he whispered, nose brushing hers, “Don’t let my inebrierated state halt you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

She was about to roll her eyes but froze, skin tingling where his warm skin had slid against hers. She should have _wanted_ to roll her eyes, right? It’s what she did. She rolled her eyes at Jones and pretended she wasn’t interested in being this up close and personal. She pretended her lips didn’t part by quickly pressing them together, eyes almost falling closed if it weren’t for the faint smell of rum that caressed her face. 

“Great.” Emma licked her lips. “So this is what I get for-”

Killian slumped forward. His cheek brushed hers, scruff tickling the waiting sparks under her skin as he pressed his mouth into her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his waist instinctively, chest rising and lowering with his shallow breathing. “He had a penchant for the sea,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck and Emma held her breath, trying to stiffen against his soft lips breaking out goosebumps. “And a knack for all things proper, that bloody wanker. He was supposed...return...and didn’t.”

Emma sighed. _What the hell is wrong with you, let go. He doesn’t really want to tell you this story. He’ll regret it tomorrow. They always regret it._ “You’re drunk. I’m gonna get you to-”

He pulled back, smirking. “Well I’m not that far gone yet! What’s the matter, love, afraid you won’t be able to handle this?”

"What, you drunk off your ass?”

No, no, no, _no._ Oh!” Killian suddenly grinned and staggered into her with slightly hooded eyes, cupping her cheeks and knocking the air out of her lungs. “Hey there, beautiful.”

Emma bit her lip. 

“No, no, me,” he continued lowly, “Me and you. That’s right, you and I. Finally getting to worship your lovely body.”

“Please,” Emma whispered. “You couldn’t handle it.”

_Stop, stop, oh my god, what are you saying?!_

“Or perhaps.” His lips were inches away, and their eyes locked. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She stared at him for a moment. His bright blue eyes glossed over by rum and sadness darkened, and the pained features suddenly morphed with intensity, sending a shiver of anticipation through her spine as he half swayed, half staggered into her space. 

With unsteady feet, his hands -strong, sure of where they were heading-traced the hill of her sides, pressing his warmth through her dress. Their foreheads brushed. Lips parted and heads angled closer. He released a breath like he understood what they were both about to give into as the familiar scent lured her forward and her eyes fluttered closed. Her palms took over the rational thinking as they traveled the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed under her long, exploring fingers as a pleased hum rumbled softly from her throat until she met the lapels of his coat and curled them into her fists. 

A purpose slowly formed in the pit of her stomach as he stroked soft flames with his thumbs, goosebumps breaking on her skin when she finally snapped her eyes open and his feet suddenly moved faster than hers. She tugged him backwards, gasping into the kiss when she crashed her lips to his, the force of their bodies slamming together trembling the wall and nearly causing their tangled legs to give out. 

Mouths opened eagerly as their heads tilted, following her through his induced state and maybe not so lost in the strong reek of rum clinging to his clothes when he dipped his tongue in, effectively pulling her lips closed as their tongues met and slid against each other, saliva hot as it spiraled salaciously with hers. His fingers slipped past her ears and buried themselves in the curls, and she’d never be more grateful for the countless slips getting weak in the knees when they saw her curls bouncing lightly against her waist as they fell prey to his grazing hands, loosening them with each slide through his fingers. 

It’d crossed her mind, multiple times, each time his lips curved into a suggestive smirk or knowing smile, but the mantra that he was her neighbor, her neighbor, her neighbor evaporated as he broke his mouth away from hers and gathered her hair into his fist, giving it an abrupt tug that dropped her head back and exposed her neck to the cold air. She blinked against the darkness wrapped around them, the panting falling from her swollen lips rising as he stepped forward, nudging her legs apart and sliding his thigh past hers. He grunted and it reached the heat, the  _ need  _ swirling in her belly as she closed her legs tightly and held him to her, holding him to this.

No chance to escape this time. Did she even want to though? His mouth assaulted her neck, dragging sloppy kisses, lips more or less pushing into skin like he couldn’t get to her collarbone fast enough. Maybe not. Maybe what she wanted was exactly this -his lips stopped, probably realizing what he was doing, probably starting to regret her when  _ Oh god  _ he clamped his teeth down and pulled her skin between his teeth, sucking it hard and unapologetic. 

Normally this is where she stopped the strangers. If they tried to brand her, claim her for a night she was going to forget about later, guys she had no intention of knowing besides the semi-satisfaction they could grant her when she walked into the hotel room. But Emma dropped her grip on his lapel, sliding her palm around the back of his neck and snaking her fingers through his silky locks. His other hand glided up her side, fingers ghosting just underneath her breast as impatience writhed her. He continued sucking, nibbling hard, but when his thumb brushed across her already erect nipple, stroking it through the annoying barriers of dress and bra, the coil tensed in her belly right before he clutched her breast and it was  _ fucking amazing  _ as he pumped it slowly, squeezing her thoroughly. 

She melted into the wall as a sigh escaped her, eyes falling closed and hand tracing,  _ memorizing  _ down the arc of his head and along the length of his shoulder. He pressed bruising kiss after kiss, urgent nose tipping her head back and she gripped onto his bicep as he nibbled under her chin, scruff brushing roughly against her skin and burning as he moved lower and towed his tongue across her collarbone. 

Her hand squeezed his bicep firmly, enjoying the muscles bulging there as much as the growing hardness pressing into her inner thigh, before she slipped her hand away and went about slowly sliding her palm lower, fingers disappearing past the lapels of his coat and dipping into the open V of his black t-shirt. She immediately met tuffets of hair and caressed them lightly, dragging her palm across them and inviting their slight prickle to tickle her skin, curly locks wrapping in between her fingers as she stroked them, hopelessly hoping the soft sighs bursting down the column of her throat were being locked and tucked away for safekeeping in her mind. She hissed when he pulled the skin between his teeth again and tugged on his hair when he began nipping her good, finally releasing his chest hair as she made quick work of undoing his buttons with strangely trembling hands.

He changed his course then as he brushed his open mouth lower and lower, nuzzling his nose when he slightered the valley of her breasts and  _ Thank god  _ for plunging necklines. She froze, the hot breath expelling noisily on her skin stilling her fingers around the last button. He reached up and left the strap hanging lazily off her forearm at the same time their gazes locked. The promise swirling inside the simmering blue in the moonlight cast a shiver through her spine, and she ripped the last button off, force of her yank spiking her nails, but the button clattering to the floor was vaguely lost in the hazy cloud of him pulling the entire cup of her bra down and enthusiastically taking her nipple, sucking it hard into his panting mouth. A moan rippled from deep within Emma’s throat, and she grit her teeth against the dampness soiling her panties, to the point that her hips rolled involuntary, desperately searching for friction, for anything to help the painful tightening of her core. His hand found hers, twining their fingers together and slamming them above her head as she squirmed, breathy whine parting her lips. 

His groan echoing around her breast rolled her hips into his again, slapping harder, where the bulge was prominent against her thigh, and a moment later he was shrugging his arms out of his coat and she was shoving it back. It fell into as a lump behind his feet, but her thinking ceased completely when he swirled his ardent tongue around her nipple, licking a slow line under her breast, leftover saliva drying into her like a mark,  _ this is actually happening mark.  _ Her clit throbbed and she whimpered, back pressing into the wall right before he grinded into her thigh. 

Emma gasped with the delicious pressure, scrambling to hold onto something when he smacked her into the wall, grating down on her harder, stronger, faster. Calloused fingers wrapped around her thigh, dangerously ghosting the edge of her clit as he hitched her leg and grunted with the cock threatening to break out of his jeans and she was so not opposed, she was-his other hand grabbed her thigh, tugging her forward, hurling her hair past her shoulders and she hurriedly wrapped her legs around his neck as he lifted his head, releasing her breast with one last suctioned pop. And one more grind too that they muffled their responding grunts into skin, features twisted with the effort of holding in their release burying into necks. 

Before she had a chance to guide him where she needed him most, she caught sight of the dark look staring at her from beneath long lashes and slightly hooded eyes meant just for her, meant to please just her. He enveloped her thighs with his hands and roughly tugged her down, sliding his palms along her long legs and her breath caught as he locked her ankles around his neck and ducked his head under her dress. He ran his nose under her panties, already so wet, so ready, and anticipation quivered her as he hooked two fingers on the hem and slowly, gradually lugged her panties past her thighs, finally  _ finally  _ exposing her swollen nub to his hot breath. 

He pulled her forward harshly and her hands scrambled for her wall on either side of her heaving shoulders, for his shoulders as he took her into his mouth and sucked her hard and  _ god, god, god, it felt so good, so fucking good  _ that her release was minutes away, shifting into seconds when he jabbed one finger inside her. Her soaking walls drew his finger deeper with each roll of her hips, rocking into his finger as his beard scratched her skin, dragging across her as much as he licked her heat, lapping at her damp folds. He didn’t even give her enough time to restore the breath to her lungs when a second finger plunged into her, searching for  _ the  _ spot and finding it when she moaned, arching her back off the wall and rocking her hips into his face. Little gasps burst from her lips while he stroked her bundle of her nerves with his thumb, pressing and running a circle, and then, with one nice, long twist of his finger, her entire orgasm rushed over her, pulsing through her blood and turning her limbs into jelly as her knees quivered violently against his cheeks. He didn’t stop his ministrations, flicking and twisting and turning just the right away for a second discharge to shower over her and she couldn’t control his name falling from her lips. 

“Killian! Killian  _ Killian,” _ she sighed as she lazily rode his face, toes curling in, and it was all she could do to not fall on top of him as her shaky fingers pushed the strands from his forehead and tugged at the nape of his neck to capture his lips, tasting the sweet nectar from his tongue as it swirled with hers.

“Emma,” he breathed when they broke apart, their excessive panting mixing together as she rested her forehead on his. Just for a moment. Something about the way his lips twitched with a smile, and the lower half of his face was smeared with her arousal, glistening under her thumbs, had her ducking her head and arresting his bottom lip between her teeth and engulfing it into her mouth where his tongue immediately reached out and flicked against hers, brows furrowing and eyes squeezing shut as they fused their mouths together, trying to immerse this,  _ him,  _ as she molded under his chest. “Emma, perhaps-”

“Just fuck me,” she whispered in his ear, closing her eyes as her nose and lips caressed the inside of his earlobe, changing their path when she tilted her head and slightly whiny pants pressed kisses on his ridiculous eyebrow and down his cheek. Maybe she was the drunk one, lost in his salty scent, maybe-her eyes snapped open at the belt buckle clinging with his rings, only needing a second to catch up before she was pushing his pants down, down, down as much as he gathered her dress up in fists against her stomach, hands suddenly turning steady as the zip freeing his straining cock was music to her thrumming ears and she grabbed him. A groan rumbled from his throat as she pumped him a few seconds, but with her clit pulsating painfully, she guided him to her entrance, small gasp dropping their jaws slightly as the tip slipped past her glittering folds and he sheathed her in one, smooth, unprepared for thrust. 

Her gasp threw her forward, but she pulled him in deeper, the weight of him filling her, delicious stretching of her muscles fluttering her eyes closed as he set a gentle, even rhythm, rolling her hips into hers gentler than she expected, slowing moving inside her. His palms roamed her ribs as her hands traced his shoulders and across his back, digging her fingernails into skin as he began to increase, wildly rocking into her and her palms cupped his butt cheeks, gripping him firmly, palms urging him forward as skin smacked against skin. Her orgasm built again with each slow drag of his cock, always hovering right on the edge of her clit before he cut off her whine with a hard thrust, slippery folds welcoming him, and she didn’t even care that he was testing her patience or nuzzling her neck was too intimate when a short, guttural sound puffed from his lips as he tried to hold off his own release. Not for long because her walls heightened, squeezing him tightly, and they both fell at the same time, names getting choked in throats as his seed spilling into her shook their joined bodies. He continued to pound her through it, the thrusts becoming sloppy as her legs threatened to slip from around his waist if not for her heels half-heartedly clinging in to the sweat on his back. She dropped her head on his forehead, trying to catch her breath, savoring as he slowly softened inside her, and when his lips brushed hers she kissed him languidly, slanting her open mouth against his amorously and spiraling their tongues incredibly slow and her core tightened. He felt it and smirked when she dazily nodded, holding her hands over her head as he slipped the dress off. 

  
  


**************

Sunshine beat behind her eyelids. 

Her breathing was slow and even in the quiet. Weird. Her alarm hadn’t sounded off yet, but she burrowed her face further into her pillow. Really fuzzy pillow. Warm when her fingers flexed, lightly skimming the pillow’s softness under her cheek. It tickled her nose, wiggling it as she inhaled deeply and tightened her arm around it. She released a small sigh; it was a nice pillow, warmer for some reason, not falling victim to the air conditioner. 

Emma slowly opened her eyes, fighting off the stickiness clinging to them, and it took a moment for her blurry vision to clear enough for the peacefully sleeping face that belonged to none other than Killian fucken Jones. 

_WHAT_

She jumped, gripping the navy comforter to her as she scooted back against the headboard. Tangled strands fell over her face, and why bother pushing them back when what she should be pushing back was the panic slowly creeping up on her with each passing second. Oh shit. Her heart pounded in her ears, blocking any excuse or idea or argument, _anything_ from forming. 

_“Emma.”_

Oh fuck. 

“ _Just fuck me.”_

She and Killian had...oh god, he’d fucked her. He might wake up with an unbelievable headache in a few hours but the flashes of him _clamping his teeth on her nipple, sucking it into his mouth, her legs spreading open, and his thumbs pressing into her hips as she took him deeper and deeper_ were there, and at some point his kisses had stopped tasting of bitter rum.

Emma threw her legs over the side of the bed and bent over to search for her socks. Ugh to hell with it. She straightened up slowly, loosening her grasp on the comforter and averting her eyes from the swollen red lovebite sitting on her left breast. Where the hell was her underwear? She ran around the room in tiptoes, managing to pull on a sock and shimmy into her underwear and get her dress halfway down her head-

“Swan?”

“Good morning,” Emma blurted, heat rushing to her cheeks and she shoved the dress the rest of the way down, hands fumbling over the zipper and angrily tugging on it. “Or afternoon, whatever it is. I-I need to go.”

“Hold on a minute, darling.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Where’s my...give me that.” Emma snatched the bra from his dangling finger and ignored the apology morphing on his face. 

Feeling sorry led to regret. Regret led to rejection. And she was done with rejection, done with putting anything other than her body in someone else’s hands. Walk away like he was unimportant, another meaningless one-night stand. Yeah that was sure to seal the deal. Hopefully for her too. 

She moved towards the doorway, still grasping the zipper behind her back. 

“Allow me.”

The scent of last night enveloped her when he came up behind her, a mixture of sweat and multiple orgasms as he swept her hair over one shoulder and easily zipped up the dress. She stilled, a newfound clamminess sprouting to her palms as they stayed there, aware of how naked he was and how she’d been naked in front of him and on top of him and below him. Slowly, hesitantly, he placed his hand on her arm and Emma leaned in slightly, enjoying the last memory of his calloused fingers and his thumb lightly stroking her skin like he, maybe, unfortunately, cared. 

“Emma, look at me.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I just can’t.” 

What she could do was do what she did best: step out of his reach, lips set in a thin line, keeping her gaze down, creating a bigger gap between them as she walked through his kitchen and grabbed the knob. 

“Emma please.”

She threw open the door and slammed it behind her, the force of it trembling her arm. By some miracle, she managed to open her own door with slippery palms and inhaled a desperate breath, biting her lip to keep the gathering tears at bay until she was pressing her back against the door and wildly grasping for the necklace that wasn’t there. 

_I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you._

Too late.


	3. The Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can hear it in the silence, silence, you  
> You can feel it on the way home, way home, you  
> You can see it with the lights out, lights out  
> You are in love, true love  
> You are in love"

**Chapter 3: The Hope**

**_He spoke of a truth, of a heart that could fix itself. What kept the mind a prisoner, due to the memories and piece, oh so terrible pieces, that remained with the ability to cut like merciless shards of glass. She’d desired the answer to no longer be restless when the moon appeared in greeting, when the tears became a river of hurt. It was a simple enough quest. Just let go, darling. But she stopped allowing her heart to take control._ **

**_1/26/20_ **

**_Indeed there were moments when she lost herself to the passions and talents falling from her lips, revealing every dream tucked she’d tucked into a hopeful corner. But then she’d stop short, apologize, because someone in the past had ignored such beautiful words. Who has hurt you, love, so much so you keep your running shoes next to your soul when you lay your head down to rest?_ **

**_3/5/20_ **

**_He believed in winning a heart without trickery, the strong pull of simply wanting. Perhaps it wasn’t enough when she’d look at him as though she were a crime scene yet to happen. Slumbering with one eye open, back tense like she waits for the next storm. And he understood how sanity could be lost in wanting her too much, but he was already drowning and so to hell with it._ **

**_4/4/20_ **

**_They would have thought him mad for remaining, but he longed to be there, in her darkest days, when trust seemed too far away._ ** _Forgive me, Swan._

**_6/23/20_ **

  
  


Emma smoothed the latest blue sticky note and taped one of the curled edges to the overflowing wall. The sneaky bastards were beginning to reach the ceiling, but she taped it away, almost absentmindly. She made sure to glance over the elegant scripture only one time, more than that was dangerous and it brought an unexpected desire to read it again that she preferred to keep at bay. 

She leaned her forehead against the paper, soaking the meaning, the ninety-five percent chance that she wasn’t wrong, and the one-thousand percent chance that she’d already screwed up into her skin. Blue glared at either side of her, a blurry ocean of that night as stupid tears pricked her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d dropped her jacket, damn it. Cleo couldn’t have put it in better words: _You’re emotional, you’re not thinking straight, it’s what keeps getting you in trouble._

Man was she in trouble now. 

Frustatingly enough that night had followed her into bars, trying to scratch an itch that was nonexistent, trying to get _him_ out of her system. She never made it past ordering a shot of whiskey and leaving when some idiot made a half-hearted attempt to flirt with her before fucking her. Something was wrong with her. Their compliments all sliding off her like mud in the rain, nothing compared to the endearments he’d covered her body with. 

Again the urge to rip all these stick notes off raised her nails to attention, but again, she’d just arrived from a stakeout and it was the only place in the entire apartment that wasn’t bare. 

*************

Emma’s pace slowed as she approached David’s - _Lieutenant Nolan’s,_ damn it- office. She was screwing up in all aspects of her life: work, personal, ten times more in personal. She froze at the doorway, hovering a foot over the threshold when she caught sight of the pixie cut. Obviously Ruby had forgotten to give her the heads up, or else she could have hid in the bathroom worrying her nail stubs away. Well, he was heading out to lunch anyway, it was now or never, and she definitely did not want to wander into the precinct a second time around. 

She cleared her throat, successfully interrupting Mary Margaret and David’s hushed conversation, and springing a warmth to her own cheeks when they snapped their heads in her direction. “Sorry to interrupt, I’ll just come back later,” she said, cowardness getting the best of her in the face of their friendly smiles. She spun on her spot, but David stopped her with a shake of his head and inviting gesture of his hand. 

“No need. I’m guessing you came for your new skip?”

“Yep.”

Mary Margaret had jumped to her feet, long skirt swishing at her ankles, and her small purse dangled from her wrist as she drew closer and took her hands in hers. “Emma hi, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?” Emma tried to return her smile, but the corners of her mouth weren’t cooperating today, or any day when Mary Margaret was around.

Maybe it was the motherly air always clinging to her that made Emma shy away, try to put as much distance between them at office parties, and implored her to duck into corners or stay in the stalls longer than she was supposed to because her caring green eyes and amiable smile every time she saw her was just too much, too soon of a reminder of the only other woman who seemed to care enough about her only to turn out she was a nutjob. Not only that, but Mary Margaret was the atmosphere of the precinct in the flesh, where everyone knew everyone, everyone went out for drinks after work, the type of people who took their sick co-worker homemade soup, who were pleasant and tried to ask if you’re okay -except for Emma. She didn’t want to participate in a place she wouldn’t be working at in a few months, less if her constantly shifting feet warned her it was time to go. 

"I’m fine.” Automatic response. Like the fact that Killian hadn’t returned to his apartment in three days, _looking extra worse for wear_ Leroy, their building’s security guard, had deemed it. Mary Margaret frowned, but Emma shrugged and gently pulled her hands back. She eyed David, willing him to hurry as he continued searching through the files. “So, um, thanks for asking.” Jesus Christ, no wonder no one wanted to be befriend her in high school. 

“Here you go,” David announced, offering her the manila folder that she grabbed a little too desperately. “But fair warning, Em, he’s a slippery one. Managed to avoid getting caught at least four times.”

“Impressive.” Emma opened the folder and inspected the file with blind eyes, gaze zeroing on the name even though her mind was swimming with Leroy’s comment. Extra worse for wear. Yeah, no shit he’d look extra worse for wear if he hadn’t bothered to come back. Why hadn’t he come back, and why did she care? She didn’t. Nope. She slapped the folder shut. “Okay, well, see you when I have Will Scarlett in handcuffs.”

“Good luck.”

“Won’t need it. Enjoy your lunch.”

A hand on her elbow stopped her, and she winced, hugging the folder tighter to her chest. So close to freedom. 

“Wait, Emma, honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Emma asked, stance tensing and she stared defiantly into Mary Margaret’s furrowed brow, using what she’d mastered in countless group homes: intimidation. 

Mary Margaret’s lips tweaked with a small, apologetic smile. “You’re not looking too good, that’s all.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, tiptoeing the fine line between finally talking to someone about the guy who was her one night stand but couldn’t be her one night stand because he was neighbor who was currently missing. Okay so maybe talking about it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe she wasn’t in her right, guarded mind after the goddamn staked lasted five hours into the night and the TV in the background played no help in coaxing her eyes to sleep. Stupid Killian Jones. 

“You’re really not going to let me go unless I spill my guts out?”

Pride shone in Mary Margaret’s grin. “I’ll even go as far as forcing Ruby to give me your phone number.”

“She doesn’t know my phone number.”

“You work here, I’m sure someone does.”

And she wouldn’t put it past Mary Margaret to do that. 

“Okay,” Emma whispered. She sighed and closed her eyes. Inhaling a deep breath for courage, for killing a few seconds, for fear before she met her waiting gaze, understanding already blooming in her eyes for something she didn’t even know yet causing Emma’s teeth to sink into her lip. She glanced at the policemen strolling by with coffee mugs in their hands, answering phone calls, typing paperwork into computers and frantically waved Mary Margaret into the bathroom. 

The door trembled shut behind her plummeting back. 

“SoIsortofhadsexwiththisguwholivesnextdoortome.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“One night stand. With a guy. Guy’s who’s my neighbor. You get it now?” Emma huffed at her widened eyes, unexpected heat spreading over her cheeks like her mother had caught her sneaking out to see her forbidden boyfriend. Or in this case: forbidden neighbor. “Don’t look so surprised! I mean I did tell you once that one nighters are as far as I ever go, and if I didn’t, then one nighters are as-”

“I know, I know, but.” Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes slightly, green turning a thoughtful direction as she pursed her lips a bit and a _knowing_ flashing across her face when Emma’s gaze fell to the tiled floor. It was a little late to be doing the walk of shame, right? Six freaking months late. “ _But,_ why do I get the feeling this was more than a one night stand? And by more, I mean more _more._ ”

Woman should have become an investigator. Her skills could be put to better use than in an elementary school. 

Emma shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn’t matter what the hell it was because I ran.”

“Why?”

“Besides the obvious, I don’t know,” she sighed, and shook her head, words fighting to lodge themselves out of her throat before she could clamp her mouth shut. “I don’t know, I really don’t. When it happened, I-I was feeling good and then...I screwed up because I’m, well, me.”

Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, and for each second that passed, Emma guessed she might have a good seventy percent chance of making a run for it. The precinct doors weren’t that far. She could stage some kind of diversion. Ruby or Graham to block her path. God, what was she doing here? Acting like the seventeen year old girl who’d worn her hair in a ponytail and bright red lipstick and decaying black glasses. That girl hadn’t found it so hard to share, or spill her guts out. 

No, no, no. She couldn’t be her again. 

“You care about him,” Mary Margaret said suddenly, rooting her to her spot. 

“He just...just, he hasn’t-” Emma tugged on her ends and looked at her. Mary Margaret wasn’t Neal, or Ingrid, or Lily. Or every person who’d disappointed her. _Trust her._ Just fucking trust someone. “He hasn’t come back and even the security guard noticed, and it’s been a few days, _three days,_ you know? And like, where is he? It’s weird.”

“So you want to know if he’s okay.”

_YES, OH MY GOD YES._ Her hand finished wrapped around the knob behind her back and she flinched as it clicked, signaling the kind of person she was, the kind she’d always been. “Listen I gotta go. Get started on finding my new skip, you know.”

“Emma wait!” She caught her forearm halfway out the door. Emma gave her the curtesy of turning her head, but no matter what, she was leaving. She raised a weak eyebrow and then the corners of her mouth dropped when she met Mary Margaret’s sympathetic smile. Better than pity, she guessed. “You should have hope.”

“Why!” Emma snapped her eyes at her, glaring fuming through the set line of her lips. Hope had never bothered to accustom itself with her, or pay her one measly visit. And the one time she’d tried to create it, it had landed her in jail. Such a pointless word.

“Because happy endings always start with hope,” Mary Margaret said easily. Emma opened her mouth, a protest struggling to form on the tip of her tongue, but it abandoned her when she shook her head and took a step forward. “And Emma, you deserve a happy ending. You may not think so, but you do.”

Her eyebrows squeezed into a weak arc, uncalled for tears discerning her eyes as she stared at her and tried to blink them away as quickly as they rushed to the edge. Finally, she swallowed hard, past the truth in her throat, and pushed the rest of the door open with enough force to bend her fingers unnaturally. 

“Thanks for listening.” And telling her something she’d never wanted to hear. 

“Anytime,” she replied sadly. 

Only when she was sitting on her seat did Mary Margaret’s declaration settle in her chest. She rolled her window down and threw hope into the wind as she stuck the key into the ignition, bug rumbling with one important fact: for the past few months, his sticky notes got her more than anything else. 

Time to repay the favor. 

  
  


************

He stood with his back to her, but what should have been normal about his leather jacket, black pants, and slightly pointy boots rubbed her the hasty approach the wrong way. Although to be fair, being surrounded by headstones probably had that effect on everyone, somehow specially on her when she walked through the gate and found her feet weighed down like someone had dropped a boulder on her toes. 

With the breeze rupturing the balmy air and throwing the blades of grass overgrown into a swaying dance, he didn’t fit into the bright, blue sky and content clouds passing slowly overhead, the sun shining heavily through the bursting green leaves making his arched shoulders and deep frown detouring the side of his mouth stand out. As she got closer, he seemed to be pressing his feet into the ground, like he was begging it to swallow him whole and _Leroy was right,_ the dark mussled in different directions was as good a hint as any. 

“Hey,” Emma whispered as she came to a stop next time. The honking cards speeding down the lane had finally faded entirely but ambushed by grey and the petals of dead flowers sweeping past her feet strained her already hesitant smile when he turned with a mixture of sadness, surprise, and _hope_ flashing across his face at all once. 

“Swan. You’ve returned.” Emma nodded, glancing at the blue paper star he’d stopped twirling between his thumb and forefinger before hauling her gaze on the headstone in front of her and burying her fists into her pockets, or else she’d do something stupid like cup his face. Again. He turned to it too, and she squinted through the burning light to make out the name causing his lower lip to quiver. 

_In Memory of Beloved Brother Liam Jones_

And it hit her. Her eyes widened. That night, what he’d said-

"I’m sorry about your brother,” she said softly, lightly laying her palm on his arm and squeezing gently. 

“I suppose that makes two of us,” he replied absentmindly, a distant look swirling in his eyes. Gone were the knowing eyebrows and suggestive smirks and flirty words she was used to, maybe even pinched her chest with _missing._ The muscles of his throat were visibly when he swallowed, and where were his stupid grins, where was her Killian?

He deserved his brother. He deserved the truth.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“Actually you couldn’t be more wrong. I do.”

“What?”

He finally turned to meet her gaze, and her stomach clenched at the regret prominent on his face. Of course. She should have expected it, why the hell didn’t she expect it? He’d been drunk and now this was the part where he admitted she was a mistake and then she’d believe he was right -He cleared his throat. “It was less than appropriate of me to impose such suggestions after I’d had so many libations. I would like to apologize, it was bad form and-”

“Maybe.” Her hand had flown to his chest, and she stilled with him as he stilled under her palm. Okay so he was apologizing, so he didn’t regret her? “Maybe,” Emma repeated softly. “ _If_ I’d put up a fight. I didn’t.”

“Regardless I-”

“Oh my god,” Emma sighed, closing her eyes lightly and teeth grazing her bottom lip as her feet hopped with impatience. He raised his eyebrows. Good. Now they were getting somewhere. “Just shut up for a second and let me finish, okay? You don’t have to apologize. I’m not mad and...that’s not why I’m here.”

Killian opened and closed his mouth several times, but his eyes softened and with it her resolve to _do this,_ whatever this was, grew stronger. “I was worried, love,” he said hesitantly. 

A smile twitched her lips. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Aye, why’s that?”

The real answer died instantly on her tongue, not ready for Mary Margaret to be right. Instead she changed her gaze to the blue, 3D paper stars scattered in front of Liam’s headstone and getting pushed around the grass with each new flap of wind smacking their backs. “Why stars?” She nodded towards them, so much easier to ask about something she was ready to hear, and the warmth of his skin keeping her palm flat against his chest. Not that she planned to pull it back anytime soon. 

Killian glanced at them and smiled sadly. “Simply something Liam used to do to pass the time whilst he was on the lonely seas in the Marines.”

The heavy look in his eyes, the way it crumbled his entire face, the loss he carried in his voice were similar to coffee and stargazing and his Did You Know clicked with a puzzle she’d been formulating in her mind for months. 

She patted his chest gently, fingertips knocking just barely to bring him back and luckily it worked because his stare locked with hers, the pale clinging onto his blue eyes resigning for a moment. “I like them,” she whispered. “They’re better than flowers.”

“You’re yet to answer my question, Swa-”

“I’m here to ask out,” she blurted, eyes blowing wide and a burning immediately rushing over her cheeks. She could not have been born any less eloquent, but when she chance a look at him, he had lost his hunched form to straighten up and his mouth twitched with amusement and no confusion. _Yeah buddy, you and me both._

Emma shrugged as if this wasn’t a big deal, as if this wasn’t exactly what she wanted to do. Now or never. “I mean, to dinner or something.” She should just get a wingman to pull her out of her shitty self. 

He tilted his head. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?” Killian asked, eyes alight with a fresh smirk. 

“Should’ve known you’d be old fashioned, you still read actual books. I saw them on your shelves last time, you know there this thing called Kindle, right?”

He scoffed. “I quite prefer the feeling of paper rather than a cellphone screen prone to bacteria.”

“Point taken.”

His face turned serious, wiping the grin from hers. “You disappeared, Swan.”

Her gaze fell on her boots. The boots that’d taken her out of states in a short period of time, get into her yellow bug and drive, drive, drive. But for once, the idea of another lease reaching another end didn’t sound so relieving, so appealing, so _right._ She nodded. “My lease was going to be up soon, I-I went to New York.”

“And now you’ve come back.”

“Yeah, well.” She chewed on her lip and he still hadn’t said yes or no, yes or no, or yes, yes, yes.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I humbly accept but on one condition: you let me plan the evening.”

Her head shot up. “I know how to plan a date!”

Killian rolled his eyes but there was no mistaking the smile tugging at both sides of his lips. “You know how to chase thieving scum, I know how to plan an evening out.”

Was she really going to do this? Let him taking control. The last time someone had held control over her heart, her money, her time, her head it.... “Fine.” Emma released a deep breath. This wasn’t like last time. And Killian wasn’t that someone. The briefest of smirks glinted on her lips, grasping onto some control while she could. “But just so you know, I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date.”

A smirk broke across his face and his eyes glittered with mischief as he took a step closer. “As I recall,” he whispered huskily and she barely managed to hold in her gasp when warm, chapped lips ghosted her earlobe, the bastard. “We didn’t need a first date to get to that part.”

Emma smiled despite herself, and pushed him away. “Pick me up at six.”

“See you tonight.”

He was still staring after her when she glanced over her shoulder, and this time her hand was late in muffling her giggle. 

Screw it. They were going on a date. 


	4. The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Morning, his place  
> Burnt toast, Sunday  
> You keep his shirt  
> He keeps his word  
> And for once you let go  
> Of your fears and your ghosts"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies in advance for those of you who maybe wanted to see their date. Emma asking him out is supposed to mark the beginning of their relationship in the last chapter and here it is continuing in depth to that relationship growing, so yeah. But if the date is something that you care to read, I don't think I'll have a problem writing something up, just leave me a comment below if you want. 
> 
> ( And oh my god, this one is really long, sorry not sorry)
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: The Start**

Sunshine beat behind her eyelids. 

Her breathing was slow and even in the quiet. Weird. Her alarm hadn’t sounded off yet, but she snuggled her face closer into her pillow. Really fuzzy pillow. Warm too. Somehow the waves of heat rolling into her side and against her breasts as her fingers automatically skimmed the pillow’s softness, maybe to make sure it was real, to make sure this wasn’t some good dream that would pop the second the air conditioner hit. 

A sigh escaped her lips because she liked this pillow; she may or may not be considering keeping it forever. 

Emma slowly opened her eyes, clutching onto the tell-tale dried, slightly stiff locks on his chest as she lifted her head cautiously and gazed at the scar under his right eye for a moment. Stickiness clung to her fighting lashes and the drowsiness he always sparked in the night clouded her mind ,almost making Killian’s sleeping face above her and the parted lips pressed to the crown of her head too blurry. She stole the opportunity to melt under his soft features, study how boyish he looked when his face was free of his brother, and her thumb moved instinctively, itching to trace and touch and know. 

Logically, the arm slung over her waist under the covers shouldn’t have been so familiar, or the faint soreness shooting reminders up her spine when she shifted them between his ankles. More warmth. More of them becoming a balancing act. 

But what if-

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A smile broke across her lips at the same time his eyes fluttered open, long lashes skipping against his prominent cheekbones sprouting something...Emma shook her head, _nope, no, no, definitely no._

They’d only been on a couple of dates. Any hint of those three stupid words couldn’t be rearing its head so early. 

“Kind of. I still have to go to work.” She swung a leg around his hip as she said it, defeating herself as her heel dug into his butt cheek, and their leaning into each other just brushed his hardness way too close to her nub. 

What was _also_ true what that they’d been on so many dates she’d lost count, and at first she’d been counting furiously, an imaginary pencil keeping tally in her brain because old habits die hard and in a new foster home counting had seemed pointless, but this, the whole Pick Me Up at Seven and I Had a Great Time was full of important and probably and hopefully. 

So far the tally evaded her, yelling at her to, for once, be stupid again and trust. 

Killian’s fingers danced along her hip before a decision flicked in his eyes and he settled his whole palm. “Allow me to make you breakfast first.” Her skin embraced the softness, but woah, breakfast?

No one had ever suggested, no one night stand had ever wanted past her body, and the hint of please in his voice drove her to shove her elbow down and quickly push up. “One cup of coffee and I should be good to go,” Emma swallowed. 

His brow furrowed, hand tightening with the tension stretching her towards the door, and he straightened to face her. Dare her. “Nonsense. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Emma rolled her eyes and slipped her legs free of his grasping ankles. 

She ignored his hand falling lump on the wrinkled sheets when she turned and scooted herself to the edge of the bed to search for her socks and her hope. 

His shirt lay a few feet away, taunting.

“Yep and skipping breakfast isn’t gonna kill me, Jones. Besides I’m perfectly capable of making myself breakfast.”

“With that statement, I assume you’re alluding to takeout.”

She scoffed, still trailing her hand across the floor and grasping air. “I cook! Sometimes.”

“Hm.” The mattress creaked and she pressed her lips together as he scooted through sheets and pillows out the corner of her eye, trying to find her socks and her walls growing harder when his chapped lips hit her ear. His puff of breath enveloped her lobe, tempting her to fall back as a hand traced the side of her waist and his scruff traveled between her shoulder blades, tickling the nape of her neck before setting his chin on top of her shoulder, her suddenly not-so-hunched shoulder. “I shall remedy that but for now...stay, Swan.”

Emma stiffened. Not go, not leave, not broken Tallahasse? Her head continued hanging, neck bent, and _stay, Swan_ throbbed in her ears, heart jumping into a gallop. She bit her lip. She couldn’t, could she? She couldn’t just...life for a woman always caught in a marathon wasn’t that easy, right? 

“I need to check my phone, I need to -wait, what are you doing,” she squealed as his arms suddenly wrapped around her waist and pulled her against his chest, knocking a shriek when her feet dangled for half a moment and then they both landed on the mattress, a blur of swinging hair hitting her face and _his face_ hovering over hers before her arms and legs surrendered control to his wiggling fingers against her sides. 

“No, wait, stop...stop! Killian I hate this,” she panted, squirming everywhere, anywhere away from his hands and laughter breaking into the pillows when he increased his speed, the bastard. “Oh my god...can’t...breathe…”

His fingers abruptly stilled and her giggle was muffled as she turned and he followed, chest molding with her back as his arms encased her tightly and his nose burrowed into the crook of her neck. “Stay,” he mumbled. 

Damn, stupid word. So nonexistent in all the group homes and foster families they’d thrown her into, even in Neal. 

What should she do?

A moment passed, where her resolve slowly crumbled to the weight of him and sea and books. Where they stayed in a mess of limbs and hair and close, and doing anything but saying yes to the guy who’d made her laugh so early in the morning would have confirmed she was crazy. 

Crazy stupid. Crazy wanted. 

“I really do have to -okay, you’re squeezing me,” Emma warned half-heartedly, and his smile widened into her neck, and fuck, hers was a traitor. 

“I’m afraid the terms of my releasing you are non-negotiable.” Figures. 

She slapped the hand covering her arm. “Let go, I’m serious,” she said, but laughter clung to her voice and her nose scrunched with her smile. Why. Why, why, why was crazy wanted being so alluring?

Killian nodded. “How does pancakes and bacon sound?”

Like she’s won the freaking lottery -almost. 

Emma snorted and finally twisted her neck around to look at him. He arched an eyebrow and lifted his head. His lips and eyes closing and brushing her cheek snatched the protest from her throat. “You, the master of boiled mackerel, is going to make me pancakes and bacon? Sounds to me like you’ve got it bad, Jones.”

“Indeed, now may I take that as a yes?”

She squinted into his eyes, searching and searching for a reason, and finding plain, old sincerity. 

Oh god. 

She pulled her lip between her teeth quickly but a smile burst anyway. “I mean, is there really no way for me to get out of this?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“ _Fine.”_ He grinned. 

“I do so love your enthusiasm.” He opened his arms and her body hesitated before jumping forward and crawling to the edge, flashing him a smirk over her shoulder as she purposely went slow to give him a good, open view of her ass. 

He growled and caught her as she bent over to swipe navy blue t-shirt off the floor, drawing her back onto his lap, tip of his cock pressing into her ass and nudging its way between the cheeks as his hands held her hips firmly and his thumbs kneaded smooth, gentle circles contrasting the grind he begun to do against her back. Her eyes fluttered closed, trying to finish tugging the shirt past her hard nipples suddenly the least of her problems as he slipped inside and- her stomach grumbled, loudly, and heat rushed to her cheeks at his chuckle. 

Emma knocked her elbow into his stomach. “Shut up, I’m hungry.”

“Hence the suggestion of pancakes and bacon, darling.”

“Whatever, come on.” She landed unsteadily on her feet, the slickness pooled at her folds urging her to press her thighs together for some relief as the shirt barely stopped past her throbbing clit. 

“I must do something beforehand.”

“Did you literally not just say-”

“I just really desperately need to kiss you-” Her eyes widened when he pulled her back, giggle breaking from her mouth as her head hit the pillow and his fingers slipped through her hair. 

Their gazes locked. 

Lips and legs parted on instinct when he ducked his head and captured her lips in an amorous kiss, soft moan bubbling past her ragged breathing throat and into his mouth as he sucked her lower lip, little whines swallowed by the tongue languidly swirling up with hers as the kiss deepened and her arousal pooled with each wet, hot slant of their tongues and bruising crash of their lips. 

“You’re not playing fair,” Emma sighed when he broke their panting mouths with a smirk. She tried to glare at him, seriously, but licking her swollen lips only amplified his smirk and she rolled her eyes and shook his shoulders lightly. 

“If I was convinced my good looks would you, I needn’t go for such play.”

Emma flicked his lips and he grabbed her wrist, twisting it to press a kiss to her palm, tingling her entire hand like it was nothing, like it was normal. “Don’t think I don’t notice you fishing for compliments,” she smiled, softer than a person who’d never had anyone should have smiled when finally having something. 

“Would you be so kind as to bestow them,” he hummed. 

“Yeah.” His eyebrows flew and the eagerness shining in his eyes _almost_ convinced her to do it, but the slow smirk rushed across her face and she jumped, bumping their noses as she gave him a chaste kiss and rolled away, making a beeline for the door. “Tomorrow!”

“Bloody minx.”

As soon as she crossed the threshold she hovered, eyes roaming the room - the clothes strewn on the floor, the pillows and sheets wrinkled and comforter half hanging off the edge, the light blue walls that widened for her entrance, welcomed her maybe, and assured it didn’t have to be another hotel room when her body had become acquainted with every drawer he’d pressed her against. 

And what if this was too familiar, what if she and the room were becoming fast friends and- his palm brushed her knuckles and the stiffness oozed from her stance when their fingers laced tightly encouraging squeeze helping her pad after him as he led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. 

“Take a seat, love.” He gestured to the chair he’d pulled out with their joined hands, and suddenly, their joined hands weren’t joined anymore as she crossed her arms. 

“Why?”

Killian arched an eyebrow. “Well to wait whilst I-”

“I can help.” 

He sighed, “Swan, you needn’t-”

Emma shrugged. “Too late, I’m making the toast,” she said as a disappointed voice nudged her forward, eyes snapping to every surface for the bag of bread that would restore control to her tapping fingers.

“Where do you -hey!” He snatched the bag as she threw herself at it, and when she spun around, he was holding it over his head, and the glare she directed at him as she stretched on tiptoes was for the system that’d stolen her decisions, her years, her chances. “Give to me,” her voice wobbled a bit, and she ignored the question flashing in Killian’s eyes to swing at the bag again. 

He rewarded her with a ‘nonsense ’ look. “I specifically said I would be preparing you breakfast.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make the toast,” Emma snapped. 

“I believe that’s exactly what it means.”

She sighed. “Killian, it’s just toast.”

“Toast of which I was in charge of.”

Emma smirked. “You said it yourself, babe, _was._ ” Her eyes widened and his softened. Oh.

Oh, oh, oh shit.

When the hell had he stopped being just Jones? 

Warmth filled her cheeks and she made a move for the bread, intent on ignoring the air of something that had sparked between them because air of something would most likely turn into air of everything. 

He stepped closer, lips ghosting her ear and sending a shiver down her spine when he whispered gruffly, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Swan. I quite like it.”

“You do?”

“Aye.”

She did too if she could ever stop lying to herself. 

Their eyes fell closed as she leaned in, lips inches from his, stuttered breath mingling as he rested his forehead on hers. But just as she opened her mouth she jumped and spun around, stumbling back as she clutched the bag of bread to her chest with a triumphant grin, the dazed expression he was hesitantly blinking away only briefly knotting her stomach because ha!

“Bad form,” Killian grumbled. 

“Maybe, but I did say I was making the toast. Show me your toaster.”

He exhaled a long sigh and walked to flick on the stove. “There, by the oatmeal.”

Her nose scrunched. “Gross.”

Killlian frowned playfully. “We shall have to alternate, you can’t possibly have takeout as much as you do.”

“Mcmuffins are good,” Emma replied absentmindly with the toaster tucked under her arm. She searched for an outlet to plug it into, _trying_ not to hit Undo on something good as his eyes followed her for a moment before he dropped his stare and took out pancake mix from a cabinet. 

“I stand by my point.”

Emma rolled her eyes and removed two slices of bread from the bag and set them aside. 

Two. 

That was a number she’d never considered. Why bother? Two meant together. Two meant not alone. And when she’d been alone for the better part of two decades, heck, from the second she was born, why would two suddenly sound appealing? She’d always been an odd number, never even with the rest of the kids at school, but two had started to grow on her. 

Two was nice. Two was safe. She _liked_ two. 

Almost like she liked plugging the coffee maker in, ears enjoying the familiar stir; sputtering noises; and heavy sounds of coffee beans being grinded. 

Killian’s whistling behind her, easy and free and perky as he mumbled along to the radio -of course his old-fashioned ass had a radio- spitting out news, switching stations, and announcing throwbacks.

Almost second nature as she opened the fridge wearing his shirt and then caught sight of the box of bearclaws still sitting on the table. 

Two in the form of mugs when she placed them firmly on the counter. 

Three sugars, definitely milk, plus cream (Her)

Two sugars, no milk, leave it black (Him)

Memorized, hands moving before her mind could shout orders. 

The disappointed voice was fading. What if she didn’t have to sleep with one eye open, what if her running shoes could be forgotten in the closet, what if he _liked_ the number two too?

“I’m sorry,” Emma blurted. And winced. Public speaking would’ve come in handy by now. 

His eyebrows furrowed and he turned around holding the spatula. “Whatever for?” he asked. 

For a lot of things. For the sizzling bacon shooting calculations through her mind, from here to the door, from here to a new state, the crackling pushing her walls higher. For still clinging to One. 

Emma’s mouth opened and closed several times, but she bit her lip and stepped close enough to slide and lay her palm on his chest, heartbeat right under her stroking fingers. He stared at her, waiting, but like the coward she was wheeled her gaze on the small, round pancakes. 

“Wow, they’re not from a box.”

“Emma.”

“Yeah? No, I’m serious, I always make them from a box. Yours look different,” she said softly. He was different. 

“A good different, I hope?” She didn’t miss the wobble at the end and finally glanced towards his widened eyes, bated breath kept inside by his pressed lips, and gave him a gentle smile. 

“I won’t rate it until I eat it.”

He cupped her cheek and she inhaled a sharp breath, startled by the palm warming her skin and eyes locking with hers when he said, “What is it you’re sorry for?”

Emma didn’t respond. Her feet rose off the floor and her arm wrapped around his neck. Her trembling tiptoes almost caused her to miss his mouth, kiss knocking into the corner of his twitching lip before her fingers dug and snaked through the locks at his nape and her head angled, eyes falling closed as she captured his lips and tried to pour everything, just everything into the tongue meeting hers.

“Not that I’m complaining, love, but, what exactly was that for?” he asked when she’d pulled back, pressing a kiss to his chin for good measure as she fell back and the soles of her feet slid her smoothly into him and her answering stare was, maybe, l-o-v-i-n-g. 

Emma shook her head and the floor pulled on her gaze. “You know,” she shrugged. “I’m just not used to someone putting me first.”

“Perhaps it’s time to break tradition then,” he whispered. 

And cue the little, orphan girl screaming she couldn’t have this. 

“Wait, what’s that smell?” She pulled her head away from his forehead, eyes blinking against the smoke rushing to invade her face, and her nose scrunched with the woody aroma filling her nostrils as she sniffed. “Oh shit the bread!” 

Spinning around, she sprinted towards the toaster and smacked the lever down, frantically waving her hand through the grey tinged air, and frowned when the two pieces of bread sprung up scorched. “This is your fault, you distracted me.”

Killian arched an incredulous eyebrow and a smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. “I beg your pardon, I seem to recall your desire to be in charge.”

“Fuck, I did say that. Why’d you listen to me?” The gasp strangled her huff as a familiar beat entered the room. 

“Swan?” His face shifted to concern and he moved forward. “What’s the matter?”

“This song.”

Understanding dawned on his face while her mouth stayed agape. He took a step back, smiling a small smile, and extended his hand out with a flourish as he dropped into a bow. “Milady,” Her heart skipped, stopping her breathing, and his blue eyes flashed, somehow, _bluer._ “Would you do me the honor of granting me this dance?”

Skeptism lingered in her stare, but she straightened when his hand grasped hers gently and led them into an open space. “Wait. You’re saying you know how to…” He turned her with him, toes hitting his, and she bit her lip to stop her smile when his chest puffed slightly. 

“There’s only one rule.” His palm wandered around her waist and settled on her lower back as their eyes locked. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Full disclosure: she didn’t know what she was doing. 

It was by luck she managed not to step on his toes, allowing her feet to follow his as he swayed his hips in time with the rhythm, shoulders losing their tension and laughter throwing her head back when their ridiculous spinning tangled their arms and clashed their knees together. 

**"** I’m pretty sure this isn’t how it goes!” was muffled in his neck, his chuckles vibrating against her throat erupting giggles as her vision spun, glimpses of his grin when he twirled her, fast, so fast her knees buckled, and then he grasped her under her shoulders and her stomach lurched as she was thrown up, and maybe she wasn’t seventeen anymore but she was damn right twenty eight when her chest crashed into his and she struggled to pull his face closer to hers. 

“I disagree. This might be exactly how it goes,” he panted and rubbed his nose with the tip of hers. 

“Who knew you were so sentimental.”

“I’m not. Merely stating facts.”

Emma grinned and they both ducked their heads, open mouths slamming so hard it sent sharp stings through her lips. 

Their teeth clashed, hot, panting tongues dragging against each other, and her eyes fell closed as her palms roamed his chest and over his shoulders and around his neck. Rough tugging on the hair of his nape sparking a growl to echo into their tangling tongues, both of them fighting for dominance as his eager fingers traveled past her waist and around her hips. Wrists flicked on her skin and palms cupped the back of her thighs. Her moan escaped, sagging her shoulders, and carding her fingers through his hair quicker, desperately, as his thumbs massaged the skin, pricking goosebumps all around and shuddering her spine until he bent and hoisted her up, her legs instantly locking around his waist as she deepened the kiss. 

Her back hit the edge of the counter and he swallowed her gasp, molding her into him as his hands released her thighs and traced under his shirt, splaying over her ass and holding her upright. She was too focused on tugging and pulling on his hair, the way their lips slanted, and his tongue pushed hers, when her hips rocked involuntarily. 

“To hell with the pancakes.”

**  
  
**

*************

_“Emma wait.”_

_“Just leave me alone right now, Jones.”_

Emma squinted and pushed the rest of her focus on the road. She expertly averted her glare from the phone sitting there, all self-righteous in the passenger seat, where he was supposed to be, where it hadn’t buzzed since yesterday. Thanks to her, of course. One unanswered call she’d ignored and two texts she’d refused to open, and now a scowl twisted her lips in the rearview mirror, every resentful look cast at the man in the backseat not even for the man at all. 

She bit her lip and glanced at Scarlet’s defeated expression -hell, it mirrored hers- still panting heavily from his impressive dash into the street. 

Maybe she was wrong not to answer. Maybe she shouldn’t have stormed out of his apartment and slammed the door loud enough for the mistake to ring in her ears. And why was it a permanent default setting to go back to calling him Jones, why couldn’t it stay Killian? God, Worst Girlfriend of The Year goes to…

_“Jones? We’ve reverted to that?”_

_“Yeah! Yeah, we have. You’re blocking my way.”_

Parking in front of the precinct, keys dangling from her finger, Emma quickly walked around the hood and threw open Scarlet’s door, the weird notion that this was on her coiling her stomach tightly as she grabbed his arm roughly. He grunted and she tugged him out onto the sidewalk, no time for his bullshit. 

“Alright come on,” she said and pressed firmer on his back to keep him walking when he purposely slowed at the glass doors. Good. It gave her the chance to swallow the lump in her throat as she lightly closed her eyes for a moment, the phone so persuasive, so right in trying to will her to will him to text her, to let her say something, anything. 

_“Look I know we’re quite different, but you’ve got to trust me.”_

_“That’s what you think this is about, that I don’t trust you?”_

He couldn’t be more wrong. She probably trusted him more than she trusted her walls, her gut, her superpower -herself. 

_“Is that not what this is about?”_

_“Forget it.”_

How could she forget about it? His desperate hand grasping her arm like an imprint. And like an idiot she’d sat with her head against the wall, stupidly hoping he might play his guitar, he might ask for a request and she’d give it to him without a second thought. 

Hours spent combing through her favorite songs, ready and waiting on the tip of her tongue. But it’d been unnaturally silent, and obviously the blame was splayed across her lap, too cozy and true to suggest he’d stay. 

She’d screwed up. Big time. Again. As usual. 

**"** _All of this, simply because I wished to spare you the trouble of such woes?”_

_“It’s not because of that.”_

_“Then bloody tell me!”_ _  
_

She hadn’t. Preferring to carry the truth like a boulder. 

_“Why can’t you ever listen to me, GO AWAY.”_

“In here.” Emma led Scarlet’s dragging feet to an empty cell block and gave him a quick shove inside, locking him in with a decisive click of her key. He plopped himself on the cot and took in the small square shaped space, but as she turned to reach for a foam cup, intent on driving coffee into her piling excuses, he jumped to his feet. 

“What, you just gonna leave me here with this bloody handcuffs all night?” She rolled her eyes. Served him right. He shook the bars slightly and pressed his mouth forward, as if he could actually stick his head out. “I’d say that’s a bit unfair, don’t ya think? Not to mention uncomfortable.”

“Well it’s also annoying to have to chase your ass downtown because you can’t seem to learn your lesson,” Emma snapped, and puffed when the throbbing between her temples swelled -a gift from the days spent boring holes into the ceiling. She shrugged and walked to the coffee maker by the corner. “Guess it sucks for the both of us.”

“You mean for you,” Scarlet shot back, “In your eyes this is all a waste of time, clock ticking and all that.”

“It’s my job,” she said flatly. 

“Then you’re right, you are to be pitied.”

She’d been waiting in his living room with Dominoes Pizza -their mutual favorite, since he totally despised Pizza Hut and she downright didn’t appreciate Little Caesar and Mama Luna’s was too far for either of them to pick up. She’d added mushrooms ( disgusting, but well, sacrifices had to be made ) to her extra pepperoni and cheese, and they’d choose a movie when he got home. All good, all fine. 

Until the news playing in the background announced a car wreck by the high school, and she’d recognized the high school name before she’d remembered he fucken worked there. His last text had been an hour ago, so what does she do, what does she do? Then he’d arrived, but something was wrong. Something about Liam.

Yeah, so maybe she’d assumed the worst, and maybe they both should have acknowledged how much they’d both lost instead of abandoning the middle ground. He refused to talk about it though, so her walls reacted by stamping brick on top of brick, so fast and so sudden, it all erupted in minutes. 

Everyone else had failed to be honest with her. Killian shouldn’t have. 

Emma glanced at Scarlet over the rim of her cup, eyes narrowing, and she blurted it out before she could stop herself, “Why did you do it?”

Surprise marred his features. “Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know about your girl.” His shoulders straightened, expression slowly transforming to concrete, but the never ending need for answers twisted her lips and tilted her head anyway. “Her name’s Ana, right?”

Something - _pain_ flickered in his brown eyes and Emma sighed. Right. Why did she want to know? It wasn’t her business. 

And why was she still here sipping coffee at midnight? Part of wished it was last time. Killian would knock on her door and make her take him to Starbucks and she would go. Without a doubt. 

**"** It’s Anastasia actually,” he replied softly. 

“Like from the Cinderella story?” she asked incredulously. 

He gave her a look. “Well you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, but the sense of loss swept through her sharply and balled her fists. “I just don’t get it. You’re doing all this for her and she’s dragging you through the mud, and now here you are, finally caught. You know you can’t depend on bails forever, right? Eventually there won’t be one and then what are you gonna do?”

“Since when do you care?”

Since she’d been in the same position, staring out hopelessly through bars, always doing, doing, and doing, and damn it Neal had been _her_ bail-jumper, and he’d just...left her to rot in the mud. 

“All I’m saying is think about it.”

“How’ bout you think about it,” Scarlet spit. He closed his eyes and shook his head, bumping his forehead lightly against the metal. “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it then.”

One good reason to explain why he was fighting so much for a person who didn’t even meet him halfway. Sad thing was this Anastasia girl probably wanted to meet him halfway. She kept bailing him out and Scarlet kept ending back where he started, and why should Killian stay? When she couldn’t even work up the courage to send a miserable, little text. 

He released a sigh. “ _Because.”_ He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head stiffly, voice drowning with the grief twisting his face. “Because when you see the good in someone you don’t give up on them, especially if they don’t see it themselves. And if you’re ever lucky enough to find true love, you fight for it, every day.”

“You really think that’s what she is?”

“I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re getting at.” His sad, half lidded eyes locked gazes with hers firmly. “I don’t regret her. Never her.”

Emma set the cup on the desk behind her and just, studied. With his head hanging in defeat and eyes closed shut, he didn’t have to be another person who lost their chance. “It wasn’t what I was getting at,” Emma said softly. 

“Every day, I wake up thinking maybe she changed her mind,” he muttered. 

She arched her shoulders and walked forward, inhaling a sharp breath as she stuck the key into the lock and twisted -both their eyes widened. She opened the door and he stumbled a couple steps, but the bills were ready in her pocket, and so she gestured for him to pass. “Go.”

Scarlet blinked. “What, lass?”

“You heard me.”

“Isn’t the point of your job to bring in knaves such as meself?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yeah, except you’re not.”

A small smile pulled at his lips and he held his wrists out to her. Their gazes dropped with the handcuffs clattering against the floor. “Could be that’s exactly what I am,” he said, brow furrowing. 

Emma shrugged. Twenty percent chance. “We both know there’s going to be a next time,” she smiled a secret smile, but at the same time hopefully not, hopefully this chance was enough. 

Will Scarlet looked at her like he wanted to say thank you, but she pointed the door and with one finally puzzled smile he was off. 

Looked like she was finally off too. 

She had somewhere she needed to be. ****  
  



	5. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You kissed on sidewalks  
> You fight and you talk  
> One night he wakes, strange look on his face  
> Pauses, then says, you're my best friend  
> And you knew what it was, he is in love."

**Chapter 5: The Truth**

For the fifth time in a row Emma glanced down the hallway. 

_Fifth._ Now that was big. That was progress. Normally she was a third time in a row kind of person and then bail. But it was the fifth time and the stubborn elevator doors remained shut with no hopeful ding in earshot. 

The emptiness ghosting the hall had crept on her, curling her body further into herself, and the lack of relief as it greeted her with open arms, like she never left, like it was expectant of one wrong move and her legs throwing themselves into action, quickly changed into a dose of dread constricting her chest.

Plus the clock ticking away on the wall only served to tug the ends of her hair harder, heighten her uneven heartbeat with each new minute there was still no sound of trudging boots as she waited and waited and waited some more. 

Her phone had died hours ago. 

It was past three in the morning and where the hell was he?

She sighed and crossed her ankles tighter, slumping forward as her elbows settled on her knees and the heels of her hands caught her face. She continued twisting a strand around her finger and pulled on it roughly to keep snapping her eyes open and to keep her head from falling and -shit. 

She’d gone and done it , hadn’t she?

Maybe Scarlet was right. Maybe Killian had finally woken up and realized he’d changed his mind, he didn’t love a challenge after all. 

The prickly carpet she’d been sitting on blurred in front of her; the holes she’d been burning into with the help of her wrong decision, always making the wrong decision, shot a quiver through her bottom lip. 

Not that she could blame him if he had. 

Her eyelids drooped, lashes weighing heavily and coaxing her deeper into the haze that could only be brought in by an extra long stakeout and sleepless nights and a semi asshole that made her regret her job when he took off running into traffic. 

She brushed her pocket. Yep, still there. Spilled guts hastily written on a crumpled sticky note after Scarlet had left, words sloppily pushed against each other more than usual, and god she was pathetic. 

She was Emma. 

The elevator dinged and her head snapped up. A million tiny pricks rippled through her legs as she wobbled to an unsteady stand, grasping the wall for support as footsteps echoed their way to her and suddenly stopped.

She winced. She wasn’t a sight for sore eyes for anyone at the moment, especially him, she was all ungraceful _sorry, I’m sorry_ smashed onto her face and smile when she inhaled a sharp breath and turned around. 

He looked at her. Surprised. Just surprised.

And like her. Like he’d fallen through too many rabbit holes of his own making. 

“Hi,” Emma breathed and staggered a couple steps toward him. His eyes widened, breaking out of his trance, and his hands and arms flew out like they would steady her when their fight numbed his face and he took a step back, keeping his gaze trained on her balance, and cleared his throat instead. 

Right. 

Hesitation swum in his blue pupils, wide, so wide despite his hunched shoulders. “I thought you were still angry,” he said raspily, like it’d been days since he’d used his voice. The feeling was mutual. 

She shook her head and gave him a small, cautious smile as she straightened herself. “I’m not,” Emma replied softly. 

He was silent for a moment and then he nodded. 

Accepting? 

His jaw ticked and he glanced at the flask, thumb smoothening over the cap fondly, like it could give him comfort and spark the short term memory without a few sips if he caressed it enough, fingers debating with loosening their grip or tightening a fraction. 

“Alright.” He brought his gaze to hers. Open but far, far away. “Why are you here then?”

A sob almost got caught in her laughter. 

Because she missed him. 

Because sleeping on her own wasn’t the same as sleeping in his arms. 

Because the truth was she didn’t want him to ever change his mind. 

Ever. 

But…

Emma motioned at the flask. “You were drinking.”

“I doubt it concerns you,” he said and there was no malice in his words. There was nothing but his disappointment crushing the few butterflies in Emma’s stomach, denting their already delicate flapping wings as she sniffed and took another step closer, the warmth radiating off him chasing the chills that’d goosebumped her skin for days. 

Freaking days. Freaking wasted days. 

Emma met his eyes, forcing all the overflowing sincerity so that he would believe she was concerned and had always been concerned and that she _cared._ Like a lot. “Actually it does,” she whispered. 

A faint frown broke through his detached straight line. “Well as I’ve said before, Swan, I’m a-”

“Survivor,” she finished easily, and his eyes flashed to her, a mixture of surprise and confusion swirling prominent in his cerulean depths as his gaze searched her face, muscles not aching as much as they should’ve in her effort to make her features vulnerable. 

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Aye?”

Her eyes widened. 

Sometimes, she would find him staring at a picture of Liam. A perfect storm keeping his face impassive for hours, the young promise in his brother’s equally blue eyes dimming whatever promise was left in him for an afternoon, a night, a morning. 

Afternoons led to late night fire burning both their throats. 

Nights led to tears dampening the valley between her breasts in silence, no reasons, just holding and holding. 

Mornings led to a single firm squeeze of his hand before they kissed goodbye at the end of the street and she prayed his students poked out at least a smile. 

At worst, she would wake up to the rapid mutterings of him talking to air. Bent over pages and pages of loss. At best, blue star-shaped paper stars moved his fingers in a blur and blurred their evening in along with it. 

Every time, he was a survivor. 

For once, the girl who never stuck through had found someone who stuck through, and Killian Jones did stick through. 

Emma smiled gently. “Yeah I know,” she said softly and squeezed her eyes shut as she licked her lips before blurting, “Killian are you mad at me?”

What if, what if, what if he-

His entire face collapsed into fragments and her eyes watered instantly. 

“No, how could I ever be mad at you, Swan,” he shook his head slowly. 

Her hands smacked against her sides and she half scoffed/half huffed. “Because I’m the worst girlfriend ever and have too many trust issues and I’m scared as hell and have too many walls and -read.”

With suddenly slippery, nimble fingers she unfolded her blue sticky note and tugged it open to reveal her ugly handwriting. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as he looked at her and then looked at it, _it,_ and her breath caught. 

**_I’m sorry. I can’t lose you too._ **

She didn’t move, she didn’t breathe, she didn’t do anything but stared at him forever. 

He finally brought his eyes to hers, and understanding, more than understanding, shined in them when he cupped her cheeks and her eyes fluttered closed, body refusing to sag until his palms warmed her skin and callouses caressed her and _he hasn’t changed his mind yet._

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Killian whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, fingers winding tightly in her hair as his palms nudged her neck and pulled her closer. Her hand found his chest, sticky note crushed against his heart and between shallow breathing chests - _Good. Good because-_

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled tenderly. 

So, so tenderly the emptiness released her from its clutches. 

“I like the way you are.” His thumb glided across her cheekbone like it was glass, stroking it like he was purposely deciding to cut himself and her heart, just, lifted. “I like your walls, I like being the one to break them down.”

A shaky laugh got caught in a sob, rushing past lumps in her throat, and she blinked quickly but the tears streamed down her cheeks and his thumbs wiped, and wiped, and wiped and it was a long time coming. 

“Me too,” she said. 

“And no matter what you said, I forgive you.”

He forgave her, he wasn’t leaving, his arm was tightening around her waist, he was here. 

“Why did you take so long?” Emma pouted. 

Sounded like a double question. 

Scratch that, it was a double question because he was a survivor and she was a survivor and if you looked out for yourself you’d never get hurt, right? Communications were a no show in her book. Any kiss that wasn’t sloppy and tasted of whiskey more than it tasted a decent human being was necessary. Sex was for an itch, last minute plan, to forget, when the three wine glasses couldn’t do the job. 

Before. 

Now. 

Why hadn’t he hurried and found her sooner, why hadn’t he bribed her to go out for midnight coffee sooner? 

She’d waited. Glaring at the cards she’d been dealt. The ones that screwed her over again and again. 

And now him. Screw waiting too. 

He kissed the tip of her scrunched nose and _of course_ he understood. 

“No seriously,” Emma mumbled. 

Killian smiled weakly. “Admittedly I was dreading the return to-”

“Yeah.” She nodded and raised her eyebrows. “Me too.”

He frowned. “For how long were you waiting?” he asked. 

As if on cue, a yawn broke through her pressed lips, announcing the truth loudly and cracking her jaw with its wideness. He chuckled and pulled her flush against his chest, scruffy cheek tickling the top of her head as her cheek landed on his shoulder. Damn, this shoulder. Dammit, it was home. 

“Trust me, this yawn isn’t because of that,” Emma said quickly. 

Killian shook his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of her head, lips skimming her hairline. “Very well then,” he said and then an arm was slipping under her knees and her feet brushed the floor and her body raised through air and another arm wrapped around her back and her eyelids were already drooping and her head struggled to stay upright as he stuck his key into the lock.

Black on the edges of her vision. Walked through his apartment. Barely jostling her. Toward his bedroom. 

“Killian,” she mumbled as he lay her gently on the bed, hands slipping from his neck and over his shoulders and turning into fists as she held the lapels of his jacket tightly, until her knuckles whitened. She inhaled a deep breath, maybe to prepare herself, maybe for the smell of _him,_ all him, all Killian, all bittersweet, to envelop her face as he hovered above her, arm still underneath her knees, and if she didn’t say it now she would tomorrow. 

Tomorrow was today. 

“Yes, my dear?” he said quietly. 

The corners of her mouth quirked and she turned her head, lips finding the spot where his heartbeat fluctuated the moment they moved.

“I missed you.”

**********

“I can’t believe you do this for fun,” Emma panted, and tried not to pant again.

Keyword: _tried._

Really tried when fire seemed to have taken residence in her ankles and whatever wind pitied their way blew warm air into her heaving mouth. Her palms had grown alarmingly clammy and her forehead burned thanks to the sun’s rays beating down and the trail - goddamn the trail- stretched out for miles. Plus his grey joggers had loosened around her waist again; sliding dangerously close to her hips with each pounding step; and the fabric clung to her legs. 

If she stopped to re-tie the knot it was a nine out of ten chance she wouldn’t be able to get up. 

Maybe he should tie it. Maybe they should call it quits and Netflix and Chill for the rest of the week. 

Her arms ached as she tried mimicking the fists he held to his chest, and she would’ve rolled her eyes if they hadn’t narrowed to slits. She was behind Killian only by a few feet and it was safe to say she bristled with his steady pace.

He threw a wink at her over his shoulder and her heart was suddenly speeding for a different reason.

Show off.

“Having trouble keeping up, Swan?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Shut up,” she snapped, but she found herself biting back a smile when he chuckled.

Somewhere between the back and forth of their apartments her Shut Up’s had lost their edge, and she was too busy smiling half the time to work on trying to drag the edge back in. 

He slowed to a lighter jog and she huffed, the ultimate challenge becoming clear as her gaze wandered to the white tank top hugging his upper body, promoting the hard planes on his chest and peeking his nipples to life, leaving his shaped biceps to catch the eye of all the other women currently running up and down the trail. 

“This shit is inhuman,” Emma grumbled. “The last thing I need is for you to tell me you also do marathons -wait, don’t tell me you also do marathons.”

“Would you care to join me if I revealed such a thing?”

“Hell no,” she replied quickly and his laughter warmed her chest, breaking from the depths of Liam, sudden and deep that her smirk shifted into a smile. “I’ll be in the stands, with food.”

His eyebrows arched sharply. “Or takeout, I presume.”

“Would you let that go, not everyone is born to cook.”

He gave her a tender smile, and for a moment, Emma was lost, just lost, and then his hand flew out to steady her flaying elbow when she tripped over a rock and a woman snickered as she ran past them. 

“I’m well aware, Swan,” Killian finally said, dropping his voice to a whisper and honest blue eyes widening. “Which is why I’m honored to be of service to that.”

She rolled her eyes, no idea how much stretching her cheeks would suppress, if he kept saying things that made her want to press him against a tree or something. “You’re an old fashioned ass, you know that?”

“For providing you with your vitamins and minerals?”

And for holding doors open.

Sometimes taking her hand first and not meeting her lips until every single knuckle had been properly kissed. For wrapping his jacket around her shoulders after their date, cold or sunny. 

Always waiting for a sign that he could grip her hair as she sucked him into her throat even though it was obvious he could and he should and the list could go on and on…

Emma shrugged. “Just in general,” she remarked. 

“Perhaps, but some’d rather say devilishly handsome.”

“That too.”

A mixture of surprise and delight flashed on his face and Emma shrugged again, chewing on her smile as they continued with his silent feet skipping on the dirt as her feet scraped now and again. Her quip wasn’t that big a deal, but by the pleased grin dimpling his cheeks, it was and maybe she should admit how attractive he was more often -specially since the two old lady’s walking their dogs had stopped to oggle him and the idiot didn’t even notice, a light pink coating his cheeks as he smiled ahead and _two fingers_ scratched behind his ear furiously. 

Well, he was. And he knew too because he’d had no problem finding women to take him back to their room for a night either. But then Killian Jones went and blushed bright doubts. 

Emma turned to the trail disappearing under her feet and pushed forward. 

The wind kissed her flushed face and swept her hair over her shoulders. Her eyes fell closed to the chirping birds above her, singing tunes of hope, and when she opened them again birch trees hugged her on either side. The blue sky was free of worries too, free of clouds as she tipped her head back a bit and stared, eyes flitting. Her annoyance at the sun’s intensity slowly lessened, made her body lighter as her aching everything faded to driving all the attention on her legs and soft breathing. In and out. In. And out. Her Fight or Flight mode had turned off, and there was just in. And out. 

In. 

Mind cleared. 

And out. 

Old scars sealed themselves. 

In and out and there was something weirdly close to freedom. 

“So now that we’ve come to a decision on my good looks,” Killian said, pulling Emma’s slightly dazed look to him. “I regret to inform you you’re about to lose.”

Emma snorted. “Excuse me.”

He tilted his head, the twitch of a smirk on the corner of his mouth. “Not to worry, darling, I’ll be generous and render you a ten second headstart.”

“For running?” The smirk borderlined mischief and she scoffed. “Babe, please, I chase people for a living. You can’t beat that.”

His eyebrows flashed, twinkle regenerating in his eyes. “I love a challenge,” he grinned. 

She grinned right back. “And I love winning, so on the count of three.”

His jog slowed and then stopped just as she was about to get into the real runner’s position she’d seen on TV. 

Emma sighed. “Now what?”

“First we must discuss the terms of my victory.”

“Pretty sure you mean _my_ victory.”

“For that we shall see, Swan. Tell me, love, what will you require as payment?”

Emma turned her chin upwards, twisting her lips in pretend thoughtfulness when she finally answered, “You make me grilled cheese and bring me hot cocoa with cinnamon every day for a month.”

“Alright,” he whispered, and a pinch sparked between her eyebrows when his voice turned even _more_ sincere. His gaze, gaping and wanting, locked with hers. “Mine is quite simple: You return home with me.”

Her breath caught.

Home. 

She opened her mouth and the lack of trembling walls choked her words. Where were they? The knees threatening to buckle with pressure, the neon signs flashing in warning that she was getting too close, too fast, and what was it her social worker used to say?

“ _Don’t ask for too much.”_ Don’t make yourself a burden, but she looked at Killian and the burden lifted off her shoulders. She looked at him and he smiled and - _home?_ Home The hope never wavered from his gaze and _home._ She was finally asking for enough. 

“Deal.” 

His smile dimpled his cheeks and creased the corners of his eyes and stroked her crying heart, and it wasn’t fair how the sun reflected Auburn off his stubble and made his lips way too kissable to be ignored as both their bodies leaned forward, one knee bent and the back of their foot hovering off the ground, heel pressing into dirt. 

“You ready, Swan?”

Emma smirked. “Ready, get set, GO!” She sprinted down the trail and Killian’s shocked grunt tossed her head over a shoulder to steal a glance at his dumbfounded expression as he jumped after her. 

“I thought we were counting, love!” 

She stuck her tongue out. “Nobody said that,” Emma laughed and pushed her legs harder, heartbeat already quickening, blood pumping through her veins, and it was a blur of the rubber band slipping from her ponytail and wind flaring her hair over her shoulders and running, running, finally running toward something as dust flew up behind her pounding feet and her face would break in half from so much smiling and she spun around, panting, so ready for home. 

“Ha, looks like I’m -wait, wait,” she shrieked as Killian’s head crashed into her stomach and knocked the air from her lungs. His apology was lost in her quivering legs, shoes stepping on toes, and her ankles tangling before his hands grasped her waist and yanked out another breathless gasp as he hoisted her over his shoulder and her eyes squeezed shut as she tried snatching at his shoulders, palms wildly brushing skin. “Oh my god, Jones, what are-”

He picked up speed, jostling the side of her ass into his grinning cheek, and enveloping his neck with her arms seemed the safer bet. 

“Killian,” Emma breathed, “you have to put - put me down!”

“As you wish,” he answered and slowed to a light walk, finally setting her on the ground with his hands sliding to her hips. 

Good. Exactly where they should be.

Her arms encircled his neck, tugging his forehead against hers, and the arch of his thumbs caressed invisible circles into her skin.

Their puffs of breath mingled together as their lips inched closer, coaxing their eyes to fall, and something about him and how the sunlight caught the blue, it, just, kept her staring. 

“May I interest you in ice cream?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. “Despite your trickery.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Only if there’s Rocky Road.”

His lips brushed hers and the corners of her mouth ticked up. “I’ll pray there is, Swan.”

There was. 

And both of them tried to push a ten dollar bill into the vendor’s hand once they had their cones. 

Killian gently swatted her hand away, sweet-talking the vendor into taking his instead, pecking Emma’s cheek as the protest jumped off her tongue, and interlacing their fingers before she could curse the woman for being so weak to his winks. 

“Next is my turn,” she grumbled. 

His eyes softened as he stepped forward and cupped her cheek, rubbing her skin with his thumb. “Whatever your heart desires, Swan,” Killian whispered, sincerity gazing straight into her eyes. “I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

This is the part where she looked, looked so hard she squinted, looked for something to be wrong because there was always something wrong, but. 

This time. 

This time the world tilted, and it was okay, and no list formed, and he was good, and this was good, and it was _just good._

His eyes, his smile, all soft. And her eyes, her smile, all soft right back. 

And she believed him. Didn’t even need to inhale him and his bated breath. Just believed his promise. 

Just. Like it was right. 

So. 

“I love you.” 

Her eyes didn’t widen. Her voice said it steady and sure and _she loved him._

A smile broke over his face and he moved closer, hand still on her cheek and chest pressing into hers as she tipped her head back and he leaned his head down, waiting and waiting and not searching.

Not anymore. Probably not since the sticky note.

Their ice cream dripped, slid off their cones, washed the tip of their tightly gripping fingers with stickiness, but who cared, who the hell cared as he inhaled a deep breath when his forehead met hers and in the middle of the goddamn park his arm wrapped around her back and tugged her into his mouth, tongue capturing hers slowly. 

“And I love you,” Killian breathed. 

“No, really.” Emma placed her hand on his straining chest, right on his heart, and nodded. “I love you.”

"As do I, Emma, ever so fiercely,” he mumbled against their slanting lips and she smiled as he pressed and pressed like he was trying to pour it into their kiss and he absolutely didn’t have to, but she allowed his tongue to sweep along hers and flick over her teeth and lick their lips into another amorous kiss that stumbled her feet as her closed eyes chased after him. “Despite your choice of flavor, of course.”

“Right. Because plain vanilla is so much better.”

“Indeed.” Emma shook her head as they turned, head falling on his shoulder as her hand slipped through the crook of his elbow. 

“Wait, so won?’ she asked around a mouthful of ice cream. 

Killian kissed her forehead, smiling imprinting into her skin. “I believe I did, darling.”

( She went home with him anyway )

  
  



	6. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So it goes  
> You two are dancing in a slow globe, round and round  
> And he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown  
> You understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars  
> And why I've spent my whole trying to put into words"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I'm sorry for taking so long to update this. There is still one more chapter left and it will be in Killian's point of view, just a glimpse into his mind about Liam's death and his grieving. I felt compelled to do it since this whole story has followed Emma a lot, and even though it's obvious Killian is suffering, I figured it would be a nice addition. In general this story is finished, and thank you for every comment and kudos, I appreciate it, keeps me going.

**Chapter 6: The Promise**

“ 310...313...318…”

Emma clutched the stem of the rose Killian had presented her with when she opened her door. She stuck her neck around the corner and squinted into the empty hall. This school was  _ huge.  _

The faint sound of the upbeat music playing in the lunchroom had faded with every step. The little window displayed vacated classrooms cast in darkness as she passed. Her heels were silent, like she was the odd girl out again, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible in her drab flannel shirts and baggy jeans, as she dragged herself to her fifth period, refusing to take her gaze off the freshly swept marble floors. 

But this time the kids were smiling, and she was smiling. 

Posters for joining book club with Ms. French or signing up for weight lifting with Mr. Hood were taped to the walls, along with a glass window case showing off the trophies dedicated to the swim team and soccer team. Her intake of breath broke the silence. Maybe it was because the atmosphere was different from the two high schools she’d attended in Minnesota, drawing her up the stairs and sliding her hand on the railings. 

Emma used to think it was the school, but an attack of years where she walked with her head down, sitting at the back of the classroom; never raising her hand; ignoring any encouragements from the coach to get into volleyball; and forced to go into the counselor’s office only to stay there with lips pressed tightly because by that point Ingrid had come and gone and she was too old to give a damn was the real reason. 

A sigh fell from her lips. Where was he?

Damn. This is what she got for peeing. She’d left him leaning smugly against the wall when she turned around to awkwardly walk into the girl’s bathroom, feeling like anything but a girl with the way his gaze burned from her neck to her ass, and he’d muttered something about 315 -probably. His fingers tangled in her hair and his hot breath caressing her parted lips distracting her. 

This was his fault. He didn’t  _ have  _ to kiss her senseless, and now fuckfuckfuck, she was lost. 

_ Wait.  _

Emma retracted her steps. 315?

The door was open, inviting, and the light reflected off the shining desks. Neatly arranged bookcases pulled her attention to the backwall, leather bounds shouting Killian, and the cursive handwriting on the white board dictated the date in black marker. A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth, and spread. 

She’d found him. 

“Jones?” Emma did a full 360. “Killian, you in here?”

She stopped in front of his desk, tilting her head when the  _ Princess Bride - _ one of the books she’d actually read- she’d leant him a month ago had a blue sticky note acting like a bookmark. She didn’t have to open it to confirm it was her apology. So that’s where it went. He must have peeled it from her hand when she’d fallen asleep. 

Her eyes flicked the golden picture frames beside his desktop. Landing on their picture, her heart missed a beat. Her nose was scrunched against the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed in protest and mouth open in laughter as he buried his grin into her hair, one hand thrusting into the camera in an attempt to cover her face as her side squirmed away from his wiggling fingers. Her, decked out in her grey beanie and leather jacket and her hair spilling past her shoulders while she clutched onto his arm off-screen, and him, movements sloppy as he clicked and clicked.

So. He had a picture of her. And they looked happy. She stared at it for a moment, waiting, but her Fight or Flight never kicked her fluttering butterflies. 

The picture next to theirs furrowed her brow, drew her closer. Killian was posing next to another man who had his curvy nose and loose locks, except this man was at least two inches taller with dirty brown hair and a face a bit more square shaped than Killian’s, all pulled back shoulders and stern crinkles around his eyes. Their thin-lipped smiles were the same, and both of them had an arm slung around a girl looking no older than five as she beamed at the camera, pointy ears and bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair falling to cover their hands pressing into her arms. 

Emma blinked as her eyes widened. 

Maya. And Liam. That was Liam and his daughter. 

A throat cleared behind her and she spun around to a petite woman in a simple silk blue dress with her hair pinned in a half-up, half-down and a thin, brown belt around her waist as she took a step forward, head tilted by curiosity in her gaze and a smile playing at her lips. 

“Not Killian, but this is his classroom,” the woman said and her smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Emma offered her a small smile, glancing around as she rocked back on her heels. “Hi,” she said, and bit her lip. Something about the woman’s smile, soft and the kind to kill you with kindness reminded her of the girl in the picture, but why? “Uh, so he teaches English here, huh?”

“Yep.” The woman nodded but then paused, the narrowing in her eyes matching Emma’s. “Well AP actually. You must be the famous Emma.”

Her feet shifted with the spotlight on her. “Famous?”

“Oh! Sorry,” the woman giggled, shaking her head as she waved her hand. “I should have said it before, I’m Belle. Killian’s sister in law.” She stuck her hand out and Emma gripped it tighter than she’d meant to, the sudden knot in her belly getting the best of her. 

“Wow, shit, I wasn’t ready to meet family,” Emma said quickly. She winced.  _ Seriously?  _ “I, um, I mean yeah, I’m Emma. It’s nice to meet you, Belle.”

“Likewise.”

She swallowed and pointed to the picture, happy and next to another happy picture. “That picture right there...that’s...I mean that’s…”

Belle nodded, understanding slipping into her eyes. “Liam complimented more his mother,” she said and the tinge of longing in her voice was familiar to the one that roared to life in Killian’s when he told her stories about his childhood. 

“The little girl there does too,” Emma said softly. 

“I’ll forever feel glad about that,” Belle sighed. She looked at her with her hands clasped, as if asking for permission, and when Emma scooted, she leaned against the desk’s edge too and got lost in the picture. “Killian wasn’t for some time, it was too painful. I mean, she’s the spitting image of Liam, I can’t blame him.” Turning her head, caught between the past and the present, she met Emma’s gaze. “He always believed it was his fault in some way, you know. As if he was in the wrong when he didn’t develop it too. After it broke apart their family and then Liam gone and seeing Maya, he couldn’t. So he didn’t.”

“But something’s changed though, right?” she asked, hope threatening to rise in her chest. 

Killian didn’t obsessively make paper stars anymore. He didn’t search for paper like a madman. He didn’t mutter in his sleep as much and that had to mean something. Right?

Emma held her breath. “I know he talks to her.” And released it. Just a quick back and forth with Maya here and there, asking about her day, what books she was reading, how her friends treating her. 

Belle was right. Sometimes he still couldn’t. He’d stare at Maya’s profile picture and inhale a shaky breath and avoid his phone, avoid Liam, until the image stopped being strong and he started being strong enough. 

“Yeah, he does.” A knowing, a  _ sureness  _ creased the corners of Belle’s lips as she gently knocked their shoulders. “I feel I have you to thank for that.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.” 

“Please tell me you don’t truly believe that.” Emma ducked her eyes to the rose she was twirling between her thumb and forefinger. “He’s different now,” Belle continued in a soft, serious voice that fed Emma’s hope. “Changed somehow. I think it’s because he’s finally found someone worth fighting for. Finally he can’t give up.”

Emma was silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. 

They wrapped around the last of her old fears and ghosts and he wasn’t the only one who’d found something worth fighting for. 

She had no idea when cases that took her away for more than three days had become so difficult, when no matter how much she expected his Good Afternoon, Love text her smile still didn’t expect to lose control, when opening her eyes to his sleeping face pressed into the crook of her neck had turned into their norm but…it was. 

Was she still afraid? 

Hell no and why didn’t that scare the living hell out of her?

“Can I tell you something?” Belle nodded and Emma bit her lip, smiling breaking through anyway. “I don’t think it’s just him anymore. I’m different. I’m better.”

“I told you it’s-”

“Ah, Swan, there you are.” Both their heads snapped to Killian when he sauntered across the room to take Emma’s hand off her lap and lace their fingers. He alternated from her to Belle with a quipped eyebrow when Belle giggled because Emma couldn’t wipe the awestruck smile from her face fast enough. “Pardon the intrusion, lovelies, but I see introductions have already been made.”

“She’s more beautiful than you let on, Killian,” Belle said, straightening to knock her elbow into his side. 

Killian rolled his eyes teasingly as his cheeks tinged pink. “Aye,” he whispered, turning to Emma, gaze roaming hers reverently. “I suppose no amount of words would be enough.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to roll her eyes because heat had creeped on her cheeks too and Killian didn’t use to roll his eyes that much until...her? Hopefully her. Belle was smiling again and Emma tugged on their hands. 

“Are you going to tell me where you ran off to?”

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Belle took a step towards the door. “See you back at the party.”

“Belle wait,” Killian said quickly. Fear trembled his voice as he took half a step forward and then glanced at his feet, finger drifting to scratch behind his ear as his features warred with his shame. At the sight of his muscles visible when he swallowed, thick and slow and hesitant, Emma rubbed her thumb over his wrist like he did with her and the sides of her lips lifted with his. “I was hoping...and if you don’t mind, of course, if Maya is able to, I’d like to see her. Perhaps the four of us could spend some time together.”

He was including her, so Emma pressed closer to his arm. 

A teary smile broke across Belle’s face and she was already nodding as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s missed you,” she sniffed. 

“I know the feeling,” Killian sighed. 

She gave him a squeeze and a soft Okay and left Emma with a smile that splashed her with more credit than she deserved. 

Killian slipped his fingers away to rest his hand on her back. “Shall we?” he asked and what the hell was he up to? Sure, she wanted to know, she always wanted to know what the mischievous look was about, but she pecked his cheek and skipped to the door. He flicked the lights off on their way out and led her down the hall, letting the party get softer and softer behind them. 

“Uh, so where to exactly?”

“Outside of course. You didn’t truly believe we’d spend all evening here, did you?”

“Thank god,” Emma groaned, dropping her head against his shoulder. He chuckled and pressed a small kiss to her forehead as they continued speed-walking. Her eyes stayed closed even after his nose caressed her skin. “These heels are  _ killing  _ me.”

“I wonder why that is,” Killian hummed. 

“You said it was formal and I listened.”

“Yes and you look-”

“I know,” she smirked. 

“Stunning,” he breathed into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. 

Faint tendrils of fog greeted her outside, cool air biting at her arms, and the wind had decided to take pity on them as it smoothed its fierceness to nudge them closer as she slipped her hand under his elbow and rested her chin on his shoulder in response to the sharp blows their way. Walking slowly to the center of the field, with the fake grass prickly and curt under their steps, just listening to each other breathe the weatherman’s report, Emma couldn’t help it, help it with his ridiculous smirk and the shyness crawling onto her smile and the giggle muffled into his jacket as she turned her cheek down again. 

Would it have been like this if she’d had someone in high school?

No.

The warmth radiating onto her skin wouldn’t have been the same, wouldn’t have been Killian.

Emma bit her lip. “You said you weren’t sentimental, but there was a picture. At your desk...anyway, you said.”

His eyes, his tender smile informed he knew what she was talking about, what she refused to say out loud because it was big and it meant everything. “Indeed I did, but it remains to be a fact.”

“I love you,” it fell from her mouth like second nature and his smile widened. “But maybe next time give me a warning or something about Belle.”

“This might come as a shock, Swan, but sometimes surprise can be a good thing.”

She shook her head. “I’m not good at surprises, I’m not good at fast,” she said but maybe it was a lie. He was here and he was unexpected and she was squeezing the unexpected in his hand. 

“No?” Killian stopped walking and her hand fell to her side when he turned around and offered her his love with a faint smile, a sudden seriousness encompassing his eyes as he burned another surprise into her. “Let’s dance then.”

“What, right now?” Emma scoffed, but her palm was sliding against his in seconds. “You’re crazy, it’s about to snow.”

Taking her other hand, her fingers grasped his shoulder as he guided her wrist to it. His other hand drifted to her lower back and pressed her closer, welcoming her knee as it slipped between his legs. Her arm instantly curled around his neck, fingers tightening in his, and she kicked off her heels as his forehead met hers. 

“You have my word,” he whispered roughly, palm sticking to her like glue, like he never planned to let go as her barefeet chilled on the ground. “We shall return inside before the prospect of pneumonia can have a chance on getting its clutches on us.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Emma rolled her eyes. “We’ll probably get the flu.”

“Come on, love.” Slowly, she rocked around with him in a circle, and spared the dark clouds looming above them a glance before their noses brushed, lips skimmed, and her eyes closed on instinct. 

“Belle told me something.” Emma swallowed thickly and -she was right, the first snowflake landed on her head. A tremble rippled through her body, but not because of the wind that swept through his  _ almost  _ neatly combed hair, but because of his hot breath trailing into her mouth, bottom lip nudged between her lips, tongue flicking out to caress the tip of hers. His arm secured her waist and she smiled. She had to tell him. 

He knew. He understood. 

“You and I, we understand each other.”

“I spent a year not caring about anyone but myself and my affliction. That is, until I met you,” Killian said softly. “And I realize, perhaps I just needed reminding that I could.”

“I love you.”

“Emma.” 

They stopped moving from side to side. 

Her hips missed the contact. 

And her eyebrows furrowed when he let go of her hand. 

He searched for something in his jacket’s pocket and - _ oh god.  _

His fist opened to reveal a black, square shaped box, and her heart accelerated, knowing no red lights. 

“There’s something I need to do, and I intend on doing it the right the way.”

He dropped to one knee and Emma gasped softly, sharp breath tearing the air as tears filled her vision and her sense and his nervous smile as he stared at her. 

“Swan,” Killian said, steady, so steady, and fueling her soul as she waited. “And I know that you face an uncertain future, as do I. But there is one thing I want you to be  _ certain of.  _ That I will always, always be by your side. So.” 

He pulled the lid back.

A tear slipped down her cheek. 

The diamond ring twinkled, like a wink, like his winks. 

Her grin was between laughing and crying. 

Maybe both. 

“So Emma Swan, what do you say, will you marry me?”

So many looks across a dark room. So many steps that were enough. So many kisses on sidewalks. So many fights and making up that the only answer was to drop on her knees, slip her hands over his shoulders, cup his cheeks, swear to him right in the eyes, the snow falling silently and cold  _ everything else  _ be damned. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Thoughts?


	7. The Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cause you can hear it in the silence,  
> You can feel it on the way home,  
> You could see it with the lights out,  
> You are in love,  
> True love"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for every comment and kudos, it means a lot. Many months went into writing this story, with beginning drafts that were ugly and discouraging. I know it did not have a real plot, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. I'm so glad to finally complete it, so without further ado: Killian's point of view. 
> 
> Quick side note:  
> This scene would be between Emma and Killian making up after their fight but before they say I love you in the park.

**Chapter 7: The Silence**

Slumber was a tease, celebrating its presence on the edges of his vision whilst refusing to let his drooping eyelids find rest. Quite possibly it was as headstrong as he was to let him smother his thoughts, or release Emma from his arms in favor of making paper stars. 

Her soft snoring poured reassurance into his increasing heart rate as her warm breaths reminded him he had warm breaths inside him too. The rise and fall of her chest, pressed as it was to his, offered him the smallest flicker of relief from his view above her head. He leaned forward and brushed her hair with his chin, falling for the soft sensation and vanilla shampoo instantly greeting his nose, clinging to it when his phone lit up the ceiling once more. 

Slowly, so as not to awake her to his torment, he straightened against the headboard. Slumped would be the accurate phrasing before he scrubbed a hand down his face and through his hair to reach for his phone. To bring an end to the buzzing. Of course it was still a tentative bridge he was building towards Maya, but at her profile picture, her message was ignored to zoom in on the face that reflected Liam’s. 

A proud smile, despite everything, lifted the corner of his lips. The child was certainly past her bedtime. She must have sneaked into Belle’s room and off with her phone, the little pirate. 

The smile faded. The thrill of taking risks did not belong to his brother. Liam had been about order and rules and planning beforehand. If he ever took a risk, it failed to be for himself, always to prove, always to make an example, always to teach a lesson to him or his naval mates.

He’d long since discerned this is what had drawn Belle to him after her divorce. How calm he was in the storm, how precise. How he’d laid all his cards on the table, no games. In the early stages of their courtship, she had mentioned the appeal to Killian about finally spending time with someone who was nothing more than who he said he was. And that was Liam. Unapologetic about his decisions. Carrying his self-righteous heart on his sleeve. 

His heart clenched. _Liam._ Liam was gone. Liam would not return. 

The unfairness of it all cast a shaking on his fists. The better part of his teenage years had been spent dreading the worst perched on the doorstep, wondering if he’d be back with all limbs intact, and now he never woke on the right side of the bed. The right was where he’d gripped his brother’s hand in his own and sobbed silently because he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t bloody let go. The git had claimed the right side of the bed as his. He had taken their shared dreams upon his death. He had taken his hope and gods if it wasn’t unfair that Liam’s name was scrawled on his future. 

Paper sliced through his skin and he swallowed back a hiss. Staring at what he held, the blue construction paper was digging into his palm. Navy, of course. Upon first visiting Target there had been a packet advertising all colors, but it was the Navy ones he’d paid for, it was the Navy ones he’d set aside to crumple and tear and shape. Just as the warfare service branch had done so to his brother. 

His fingers twitched with an urge, with the necessity to make a star. Whether it was to cope or burn further into Liam’s treachery, Killian gently slipped his hand from under Emma’s palm and took her wrist to place her hand on his pillow with an apologetic sweep of his thumb across her knuckles. Sliding his leg free, trapped as it was by her ankles -his Swan had horrid blood temperature- he snatched another square of paper and slumped forward on his knees once his feet landed on the floor. 

One star. Simply one to quench the thirst for control. 

Emma mumbled something unintelligible and he turned to find sleep nestled on the lashes resting against her cheekbones, on the faint furrow between her eyebrows, on the minimally bruised lips alluding to their rough kisses. Moonlight shimmered on the waves spilling down her back, providing the temptation to be hers for the night rather than the memories. He leaned forward, intent on keeping himself grounded by tracing her eyes, her nose, the apple of her cheeks, the dent in her chin. As his fingers hovered above her angel-like face, she kept him from sinning, from faulting his brother for being honorable, to all except to him. 

He closed his eyes on a sigh, surrendering such numb fingers to encompass them in the ends of her hair and _feel_ life. 

How is it that Liam could have justified taking all his best pieces with him?

_“Come here, little brother, take a seat beside me.”_

_As the common occurrence it was, Killian did as Liam requested. The hint of authority, tamped down by nurses breathing down his neck and flitting about the room trying to make his stay comfortable, enjoyable, bloody bearable, had Killian relinquishing his messenger bag to the floor and joining Liam on his right as he scooted further to the left. Liam adjusted the pillow behind him with a firm tug, and at Killian’s wilting features, he gave him an apprehensive look and closed his eyes with a loud sigh._

_“It would be helpful if you’d stop looking so glum; these hospital walls are as dreadful as it is.”_

_Killian pressed his lips together. They were all too intimate with hospital walls, were they not? He glanced at his face, eyes roaming the shiny lump sitting near his collarbone, shaped to the size of a pear, and appearing tender with whatever blood it had oozed moments before his arrival had dried to the cracked skin. He swallowed past a lump formed by the presence of this one and asked, “How are you feeling today?”_

_Liam’s eyes snapped open, a chide in the blue effectively squirming Killian in his seat, as though it were mum shooting an exasperated glare at him again after such a question. They truly were cut from the same cloth. “What, no ‘younger’ brother retort this time?” He smiled teasingly. “My, my, how being unwell brings about the change in your rebellion.”_

_“Brother, I’m serious.”_

_“As am I. You know, I wouldn’t have allowed you in if I’d known you’d be so dower in spirits.”_

_He nearly scoffed. Did he expect him to be prancing with joy? Did he truly think watching him like this wouldn’t be hard, wouldn’t remind them both of mother and the bastard who’d abandoned them?_

_“Is there truly any other way to be at a time like this?” Killian snapped, the vein in his jaw surely popping out because that bastard could have been different, could have been what he was supposed to, their goddamn father. His papa. “Another time like this,” he sighed._

_“Killian please, let’s not talk of mother right now.”_

_He ignored the tinge of plea in Liam’s voice, his teeth pressing together harder. “Or the bastard who gave up after her.”_

_Liam exhaled softly and tried to smile, his face instantly draining of the forced cheer when he knocked his fist on Killian’s arm. “Seeing as you are here, perhaps you’d like to tell me your studies. You’re almost done, you should be proud.”_

_Killian studied Liam carefully and smiled softly at him. “Inquire what’s really on your mind, Liam.”_

_“I looked after your schooling, you git. Of course your education is of the utmost importance to me.”_

_His shoulders sagged, elbows resting on the uncomfortable mattress and running a hand through his hair, Maya’s blue wide eyes appearing behind his closed eyes when she asked where her papa was and Belle’s hand coming up to cover her mouth before the sob could break out. “Maya remains unaware of where her father is most nights,” he whispered thickly. “And Belle cries a lot.”_

_“I know,” Liam said defeatedly. “She never tells me that, I hate causing her such pain.”_

_“She’s brave, Liam.” But she shouldn’t have to be. They shouldn’t be here. His first stop after classes ended for the day should not be entering a hospital again. This was almost laughable, how could they not both be spared? Why is that growing up with a man like Brennan wasn’t punishment enough? He inhaled a sharp breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry but I don’t understand, why wouldn’t you-”_

_“Killian, we’ve been over this.”_

_Too many times. Too many times with an answer that didn’t make sense._

_“We have, but this was like mother’s,” Killian said quickly, almost desperately as he rushed over the words. “You had a chance, the risk was not as high, they still could have treated you if only you hadn’t been a stubborn arse and -”_

_“I HAD A DUTY.” Killian clamped his mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose. Liam glared at him. “As captain, to the navy, to my country. And I bloody well served it.”_

_“At the expense of your own life?”_

_“It wouldn’t have been good form to up and leave, to abandon them,” Liam said softly. His mind wasn’t the only who went to finding their father’s bed empty one night and empty for the rest of their lives. He hoped he drowned in his own rum. “You know that, little brother.”_

_Killian shook his head, the “little” only brought up watching his mother die and watching his father drink night after night. “It’s younger now.”_

_“I’ve told you this before: a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he -”_

_“And so you’d fight for everything but not your bloody health?” Killian yelled, jumping to his feet and pointing accusingly at Liam, his shocked face blurred by the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks. “Fuck you, Liam! And fuck honor because none of this is worth having you gone as well, none of it.”_

_He collapsed against the side of the bed, his face pressing into the mattress and sheets gathered in his fists as his body shook slightly. Liam’s familiar hand found his back. “There, there. Calm down, Killy.”_

_“I don’t want to lose you.” What would he do? What the hell would he do? He’d be lost. He’d be lost forever. The grief would cripple him, he’d fall back to rum. He couldn’t do this._

_“Take this,” Liam said softly in between Killian’s sniffles. A chain sounded and he lifted his head slowly, blinking at the silver ring with a red jewel adorning the top- their mother’s ring, the same she’d always worn on her finger. “Take this,” he repeated, gently pushing it into Killian’s open palm._

_Killian quickly made a fist. “That’s mother’s ring, I can’t. She gave it to you for when you met the woman you were to-”_

_"Aye,” Liam interrupted pointedly. “But in case you forgot, Belle already has a ring and we are already wed. “ He sighed. “In truth this has a different meaning to me, it’s why I prefered keeping it to myself than giving it to Belle. It’s a symbol, Killian, that despite mother long since passed, she is still here. And as long as you have it, I will always be there too. Then when some lass inevitably falls for you, you shall give it to her so you will always be there with her.”_

_He looked away from him, from the ring, and tried to not let his entire body bristle at the thought of Milah leaving, of burying so many promises deep in his chest and breaking them in half with an indifferent look. “Thank you, but I highly doubt that. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a husband, it’s simply not me.”_

_Not anymore. What kind of man would he be without Liam? He’d turned out this way with and without having a father. Milah hadn’t chosen him. He hadn’t been enough. There was a reason their mother gave the ring to Liam, and not because he was the oldest, but because he wasn’t always trying to prove something, always trying to make sure he was enough._

_“I said that once before.”_

_“Oh don’t start.”_

_“I was a man of the sea, Killian! And all it took was meeting the right person and everything changed. The same will be for you, I’m sure of it.” Poor him then, believing Killian could ever want that again. Milah had been the right person and everything had changed -for a while. He didn’t have to be the man of the sea, perhaps being a man of books was enough and he would be content. He needed to be content._

_He shook his head. “I won’t argue further, it would probably be in vain.”_

_“Quite right.” Liam shoved the ring into his hand. “Now take this blasted ring and hang it around your neck and go back home and eat something, you look like death itself.”_

_Of course his stomach would choose that moment to growl. Liam motioned for the door and Killian sighed, straightening with the ring lightly held from the chain, like at any second, it would run away too._

_“Don’t think you’ll be getting rid of me that easily, I’ll be back tomorrow.”_

_“I figured.”_

_Killian’s smile faded and his face turned serious. “Goodnight, Liam.”_

_“Killian.”_

_He turned around, concern surfacing on his face. “What is it, are you uncomfortable?”_

_Liam scoffed lightly and dismissed the question with a wave. “Let the nurses fuss over that. “ His face turned between hesitant and suddenly determined. “I meant to say...if anything were to happen at this point, promise me you won’t leave Belle or my Maya. You won’t as you did when our mother died.”_

_Instinct told him to promise that anything Liam wanted, he would do his best to provide this time. This time he would be strong. But instead he smirked._

_“Look who’s slightly glum now.” Liam took his forearm in a tight grip and his eyes softened. “To the ends of the earth, remember? Stop speaking this foolishness, I’ll be back bright and early.”_

_Liam smiled a grateful smile. “Yes. To the ends of the earth.”_

_He hadn’t promised._

_He couldn’t._

Could he?

“Hey.” His eyes flit toward Emma’s voice, congealed by sleep and cutting gently through his haze. One moment a drowse clung to her smile and the next she was lifting her head and adorably wiggling her nose in response to the time on the clock behind him. He remained stroking his thumb on her arm, to soothe her as much as him when a crease formed between her eyebrows and she leant to cup his cheek. “Can’t sleep?” 

_Can’t forgive_ was the better suited inquiry, but he simply smiled, soft for her, and twisted his neck to brush a lingering kiss on her palm. “Just thinking is all, love,” he murmured against her skin. “You needn’t worry.”

Her eyes traced his face, seeking for the worry despite him. Understanding settled, gaze nodding, and she thumbed his cheekbone. “Thinking about Liam,” she concluded, each time surfacing further from the tendrils of fatigue to tend to his tendrils of mind. 

“Aye,” he said quietly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Won’t you be leaving in the morning for a case?”

“I don’t care.”

“Emma.” That was all. All he could breathe. Breath of relief because the ring was on his person and though he could not forgive yet, perhaps he could be a man of the stars rather than the sea. The stars he found in her stare, the wondrous mixture of a question and a laugh, the eyes that twinkled with intrigue as she waited, the scattered freckles on her face serving as a constellation guiding him home after another night of Liam letting his hopes down in his memories. 

“What?” she said, eyes trailing the gravity of Liam’s words on his face. Words that had claimed he would find a woman and that woman would tilt his world on its axis. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, breasts crushed by his side as he turned and she turned and she could make him or break him but bloody hell, as he trapped her ankles between his legs, he would give permission to both.

“Killian, are you okay?” She squinted and shook her head when a grin spread across his lips. “What are you…?”

“You’re my best friend,” he whispered. “Darling, you are right.” 

Her eyes widened, glazed by unshed tears. “I…” Her eyes were ready, assuring the _I love you_ ghosting her tongue, but her mouth was not, her mouth needed the time to prepare, to taste, to know it was candid. Her mouth opened and closed and crushed her lips to his, for he might be two steps ahead but she poured the words in each sweet slide of her tongue. 

“Mm, did you know sleeping on your left side may reduce the chance of suffering heartburn?” he hummed after she’d broken away to throw her arm over his chest and snuggle her cheek on his heart. Burying his next kisses in her hair, he encased her wholly. “Which is quite useful given what is in those pop tarts you so like.”

“Seriously Jones, do not come at me about my pop tarts.”

He chuckled softly and placed a kiss upon her forehead, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Very well then, sweetheart.”

“Killian?” came her voice much later as they listened to the others heartbeats. 

“Hm?”

“Let’s move -never mind.” She burrowed into his chest. “Never mind.”

All in good time. All in her time. “Goodnight, Swan.”

Her fingers curled around his chest hair and she smiled into his neck. “Goodnight.”

Why did men lose their minds and fight the wars, why did they spend their lifetime trying to put such a feeling into words?

In the silence, it was clear and palpable. 

And perhaps one day they’d both wave their farewell to their fears and their ghosts. 

But for now. 

In the silence, his love would hold her. 

In the silence, he was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Song: You are in love  
> By: Taylor Swift


End file.
